


Busman's Holiday

by Jenwryn



Series: The Meg AU [8]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Baby!Fic, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-21
Updated: 2007-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 110,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Lantean text lands both SG-1 and SGA personnel in web of danger, involving everything from Ba'al to unpleasant medical experiments. And McKay and OFC Meaghan have their own personal problems, as do John and Elizabeth...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello, Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> All chapter titles come from songs by The Beatles. Seriously. And I listened to them obsessively while I was writing this. For the record.
> 
> The first thirty chapters are unbeta'd; after that they've been edited by the wonderful [ProfessorZ](http://www.fanfiction.net/~ProfessorZ). ♥

'Cough it up, mister. Pall Mall is _mine _and you know it.'

Doctor Meaghan Monahan lay belly-down on the rug in her quarters and grinned as he reluctantly calculated the rent that he owed her. They were playing by the rules that her brother Domenic had made up years ago, and to her utmost delight her opponent found himself deeply in her debt with ever-increasing interest rates.

He shifted crankily on his cushions - refusing to sprawl on the floor like she did, primarily out of principal, but also because it made his back ache - then watched keenly as she hopped her little silver doggie seven places around the board and landed on King's Cross Station.

'Ha!' he crowed in triumph, since all four railway stations were his, and she grudgingly deducted the amount from what he owed her. They had been at this particular game over an hour now, and the money in circulation was way beyond that actually available in the paper-money bank.

Dom's rules had some intriguing loopholes.

'Your turn, slowpoke,' she said, and grinned up at him.

He swore impressively - she had a dark suspicion that she was teaching him bad habits - when his move passed him straight through 'Go' (she took the money for herself and deducted it from his debt) and landed squarely on more of her property. Admittedly, given the percentage of the board that she had bought, wheedled, or stolen, the odds _were_ somewhat in her favour. Not that she always did this well. The very reason they had eventually settled upon monopoly was that it was the only game they'd been able to find amongst those that people had brought to Atlantis, which they both enjoyed _and _were relatively equally skilled at.

She chalked up his debt a little higher. One thousand more and he'd have to hand over a chocolate bar. Her grin broadened at the thought and she wriggled her toes happily.

Their weekly evening at the monopoly board had become something she looked forwards to - not that she would ever have admitted it aloud. Hell, she hadn't even admitted it to her calendar. Everything else was scrawled up in big, black text letters (Girls' Poker night was in _red_ with little happy-squiggles around it), but her evening with McKay was just crosshatched to show it was occupied, without admitting by _what. _

Her little doggie hopped around the board again - (it amused her to move the piece along street by street as though she had trouble keeping count, because the frustrated look on Rodney's face was priceless, though admittedly not as priceless as when she made their tokens have little conversations in tiny squeaky voices!) - then collected its two hundred and landed safely on the same street as his automobile. It was unusual to keep roaring around the board this fast. She was enjoying herself thoroughly.

_Not _that the evenings had started out as fun.

They had begun a few months earlier. She'd been grounded after her naughtiness on Alba, and he'd been working mostly off-world or in the Ancient Area 51. Then, they'd had to share a lab and their stupid bet had happened. When he'd lost, he'd been so cranky that he'd reverted back to his old policy of pretending that she didn't exist. Which, quite frankly, had suited her more or less just fine, because she'd still been trying to process the fact that _McKay_ \- even taking into account the bizarre circumstances - had actually _kissed _her.

But then, a week later - actually, about the same time as she'd received the news that because of an unexpected alteration of staff, she'd be having a month's 'shore-leave' back home on Earth over Christmas - he had suddenly appeared at the door to her quarters one evening, a box of games in his arms and a determined glint in his eyes. _McKay... and games?_ It had been such an unexpected combination that she'd let him in without a murmur, just staring at the boxful - he must have begged or borrowed everything, because she was pretty damn sure they hadn't come in _his _luggage. He'd just pushed his way past her, dumped the box on her rug, and then stared around him ungraciously - taking in the piles of books, and the wind-chimes, and the wall covered in posters and photos, and the clothes she had strung up to dry on her little balcony - and said, 'So _this _is where you live? Surprisingly tidy, considering how you usually look.'

She'd spluttered at that, but he'd just kept on right over the top of her indignation, explaining that he had come to demand a chess tournament, with the sole aim of winning the shoebox of chocolates that he felt he'd been cheated out of during their bet.

That was how it had begun. The pair of them, bent over a chessboard on the rug because her desk was too cluttered with papers and CDs and stacks of clean underwear, both of them foul-tempered and deadly serious. Never had chocolate been more highly valued. Not surprisingly, he'd annihilated her at chess. Gin-rummy hadn't gone much better for her. But when they reached snakes-and-ladders they'd both descended into a happy state of sarcastic wit, and emerged at the other end actually really _talking. _By the time they'd passed through UNO and reached scrabble, he'd been willing to grudgingly admit that she might possibly be better than him at something. And it was then that he started bringing her articles he had written for scientific journals back on Earth, and requesting grumpily that she edit them for him.

At some stage, the chocolates had become secondary. Not that they weren't each always determined to win. And they had to have the game-board between them. They couldn't just sit and chat. That would have been too -- weird.

Now she moved, landed on Vine Street, and buried her head in her hands with a moan. Not only was it McKay's, but it hadn't been landed on by either of them since he'd bought it, which by Dom's rules made it a jinxed street - and so she had to hand over thirteen times the rent. McKay grinned smugly as she gnawed the end of her pencil crossly then deducted a good half of his debt. 'And so the tide turns, Monahan, I'll have you yet!'

She glanced at him swiftly, a cheeky light in her eyes, and he pinkened slightly when he saw her interpretation of his words - _honestly, he hadn't meant it like **that **_\- stamped clearly on her face. She wrinkled her nose in amused delight, 'How sweet of you to want me, McKay, I'd never have guessed.'

He threw the die at her, but she ducked, poked her tongue out at him, and then straightened up her hotels that he'd knocked so rudely out of kilter. But in the next few moves, her good-humour was to lessen a little. Rodney's luck kept improving and her's got simply worse. Then, when his debt was suddenly gone, and he was chuckling superiorly, and waving his first hard cash (well, paper cash anyway) under her nose in satisfaction, she grumped at him.

'Don't get too cocky just yet,' she complained, and then rolled onto her back and stared at him upside down while he threw the die and moved his token. 'Besides,' she added, 'It hardly matters. You _do _know that I'm leaving tomorrow, right?'

He landed on one of his own streets, and made a self-satisfied clucking noise.

'McKay?' She swung back onto her belly, and then sat up, legs crossed Indian-style, and peered at him intently, 'McKay, it's common knowledge that you suffer from selective deafness, but I'm less than a foot and a half away. I _know_ you can hear me.'

He glanced at her since she was ignoring the die he was holding out, and muttered, 'Well, obviously I know. You’ve talked about nothing else all week - while the rest of us were actually trying to get some work done, I might add. Anyone would think -' He broke off, and simply looked put-out.

She smiled curiously, 'Well, even _you'd _be glad to go home, wouldn't you? I mean, it'll be good to see my family again. It's not that I want to leave Atlantis, per se, and I wouldn't go if I weren't sure that I could come back, but to be honest - I've never gone this long in my life without seeing my brother before, and I've missed him. He's got holidays too, you know, and we're going to meet up.'

McKay rolled his eyes, 'Ah yes, that part you managed to mention oh, I don't know, about a hundred thousand times. Anyone would think you had been fixed at the hip.'

She laughed, 'Well, technically...' She rose up onto her knees, then pulled the band of her hipster-jeans down a little further on one side, so that he could see her brother's name tattooed there in spidery black letters.

He frowned in exasperation, 'You have _got _to be kidding! Who gets their _brother's _name tattooed?' Then his eyes narrowed, 'Hey, what else do you have? I thought those scribbly things up your back were bad enough.'

'Firstly, they’re runes, not scribbly things. And as for what else I have...' she winked, 'Don't you wish you knew?'

He grunted. But his luck kept improving. She actually sighed in relief when her little doggie landed in gaol.

'You can pay your way out,' he reminded her, but she shook her head, 'Not on your nelly. The way this game has turned in your favour, I'm more than happy to sit in here and twiddle my thumbs, thank you very much. Suddenly _I’m _the one in debt.' Then she paused, 'Of course, you could always bribe the gaoler to let me out early.'

Yes, Dom's rules were really a vast improvement on the originals.

*

Four hours later, Meaghan dropped the last plastic house into its box and said with a sleepy smile, 'You know, I always end up doing this.'

He glanced at her from where he sat on his cushions, legs stretched out, and back resting against the edge of her bed and said, 'What, losing to me?' He took a smug bite of chocolate and continued smarmily, 'Yes, I know. It's my superior intellect that does it.'

She kicked him in the leg and said, 'No, stupid. Staying up late before a big trip. You know, once I had a 9am flight and I sat up till 2am the night before watching a film based on a Wolfgang Hohlbein book, only to find out that it was a two-part thing. I slept in, almost missed my flight, and still don't know how the story ended.' She grinned, 'Lots of fallen angels and knights templar. Very cool.'

He rolled his eyes, 'Stepping through the stargate is hardly a big trip.'

She put the monopoly on top of her _Brewer's Phrase and Fable_, and then flicked her CD player on. The Beatles bubbled out.

'Well,' she said slowly, 'You know, technically, I've never stepped through the event horizon.'

She flopped down on the bed, elbows next to his head, and grinned at his astonished expression as he stared up at her.

'Are you serious? But you've been off-world heaps of times.'

'Sure. In a puddlejumper. Puddlejumpers have air in them. The thought of stepping into it just myself - I mean, it looks like you'd suffocate.'

His eyes had widened, but he'd stayed silent. She yawned, 'God, McKay, you must be even more tired than I am. I just admitted that I'm freaked out by doing something that you do on a daily basis without batting an eyelid, and you're neither mocking me nor spouting sarcasm.' She leant over and rested her hand on his forehead, 'Are you feeling okay? Got a fever?'

He shrugged her hand off, and then admitted, 'No, just surprised. You normally play tough.'

'McKay... you've seen me with leeches.'

He smiled slightly, 'Yes, well, we all have our weaknesses.'

'Mm, like lemons, you. Such a shame. I make a mean lemon meringue pie, if you'll credit it.'

'_You'd _make _me _a pie?' He was actually grinning at her.

She slapped him playfully on the head, 'Don't get your hopes up, genius.' She yawned again, but didn't have the energy to kick him out and put herself to bed. 'At least I have my bags packed this time.'

He glanced at them, 'It's not much.'

'Well, how much do I need? And besides, then I can go shopping, shopping, shopping. I'm in denial after all the months here and no shops. I never actually thought I was the shopping type, but honestly, none at all...?'

He was still looking at her, she realised, and he said suddenly, 'You _really _wouldn't go if you couldn't come back?'

She stared at him. Where the hell that he pulled that from? She shrugged, 'No. Oddly enough, I quite like it here. I mean, a little less ocean and a little more land wouldn't go astray, but-'

He was biting his lip, and without warning, he suddenly reached up and brushed a length of her hair out of her eyes and hooked it behind her ear. 'Messy woman,' he muttered, but she didn't hear him. Because his fingertips had grazed gently across her face as he'd done it, and she'd felt her stomach lurch.

Oh, God, no.

She _knew _that lurch.

She blinked and to her horror found herself blushing.

Oh, God, no, not _that _reaction, not to McKay. Seriously - he was _McKay. _

Okay, so she thought he was just a little cute when he was cranky, and she got insidious delight out of pushing his buttons. And the whole monopoly thing was good fun, when they weren't bickering. Oh, _all right_, even when they _were _bickering.

But -

Her stomach was still quivering. God, no, not McKay, it wasn't -

He was staring at the fact that she was blushing, and stood up, slightly uncomfortable. 'Um, so when do you leave?'

She forced herself to think straight.

_It was all because he'd kissed her for that bet, damn him. _

'8am.'

He nodded.

_Oh, that, and the fact that the moment John-bloody-Sheppard had found out that she proof-read his articles, he'd started making 'but she's not even blonde' jokes. _

McKay moved slightly from one foot to the next. 'Well, I guess I won't see you again until you get back then. You know how early we're supposed to be in the Ancient Area 51.'

She nodded.

_Oh, alright, and the fact that she'd made the astonishing discovery that under his shell there possibly lurked a well-hidden human being. _

It had suddenly gotten awkward. Why'd she have to go and blush like that?

'Well,' she said.

'Enjoy your holiday then,' he answered, and scurried out of the room like someone caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

She groaned loudly, and flopped down hard against her bed, and bit her doona viciously.

_'I say high, you say low, you say why, I say I don't know, oh no, you say goodbye and I say hello-'_

She picked up a cushion and threw it crankily at the CD player and the self-satisfied harmonised voices of George and his friends suddenly broke off. Damn it! She _refused _to think about McKay like that. It simply wasn't right. It was totally irrational. It was - it was - she couldn't even think what it was. Then and there she made up her mind that she'd better get herself a summer romance ASAP. Surely it was just hormonal? That must be the answer, she'd just been too long in this city without a boyfriend. Hormones. Nothing more. She couldn't really be contemplating... Oh, crap.

Oddly enough, that was exactly what Rodney was thinking as he stood in the hall and stared at her closed door. Not the hormones part, the crap part. _What on Earth did it mean that she'd blushed like that? Brick red, she'd blushed. He'd never even guessed she'd be the kind of woman who'd blush. And blush, because of **him**?_ Oh, crap. He was way out of his depth now.


	2. I Should Have Known Better

Meaghan knelt in the dirt of a flowerbed and weeded. The gardens were much too big for her mother to cope with on her own and besides, it had been her father who'd had the green thumb. All along the back of the house the weeds stood tall and stubborn, a row of ancient roses and rather-daunted-looking hibiscus almost completely hidden beneath them. Sticky seeds had glued themselves to her skin, and the odd piece of corkscrew-grass was trying to burrow its way into her clothes, but the linguist was enjoying herself. She glanced up at the immense blue sky - it was simply _different _to the one over Atlantis, though she couldn't for the life of her have said how - and dropped a fistful of dandelions into the bucket at her side. Then let out a yell as a handful of mud slammed into the brick wall of the house beside her head.

'Dom!' she screeched, and jumped up with the hose in her hands. Her brother grabbed the pair of little boys he'd been running wild with and held them in front of him like a shield. Hamish and Murray wriggled in his grasp, their freckled faces and red hair covered in black streaks of dirt. She grinned at them evilly, and gripped the hose like a weapon, 'I warn you now, boys, I am armed and dangerous. If another mud pie comes near me or my new tattoo, you will all three of you be drowned and then I'll drop you in that there drain you're supposed to be digging and tell Stella that you caught a bus to Timbuktu.'

Dom smirked, 'Somehow I doubt there's one going from around here, Megs.'

Her finger itched on the hose's trigger, 'I'm sure I can find one somewhere. And when she sees the state that you lot are in, I doubt she'll care much. You don't think she's going to let you in her ute looking like that do you?'

Hamish giggled, 'When she heard we were digging a drain with Uncle Domenic, Mum said she'd stick us in the back with the dogs.'

His brother elbowed him, 'That was only a joke, you twerp.' Murray had his superior expression on, and Meaghan blinked when she caught herself grinning and thinking how much like McKay he sounded. _Damn_ McKay. She couldn't even look at the grubby twins - technically not her nephews, but actually the sons of her cousin - without him invading her brain. She hadn't kept her promise to herself yet - about finding a romantic distraction - because in her hometown single men weren't exactly ten to the dozen, but the fact that the scientist kept niggling at her thoughts told her she really ought to. She shifted her still-tender shoulders slightly beneath her blouse - one of her mother's, to give the tattoo air to breathe - and rolled her eyes. 'If you don't believe me, ask Dom. He can tell you how dangerous I am when I've been freshly inked.'

Dom laughed, and shepherded the boys back to the drain. Their mother lived on a block of land just outside the town, and the soil was rich and black. Wonderful for growing things - in particular the small forest of weeds that Meaghan was working her way through - but filthy muddy when it actually got around to raining. Her brother had been promising to dig a drain to run the water from the tank's overflow down into the back paddock for a good four years now. It was about time he was finally doing it. She watched as they picked up their shovels again and got back to work, then knelt back in the dirt with the hose at her knees just in case.

The time at home so far - admittedly not even a week yet - had been ... _interesting_, as Teyla would say. It wasn't that she hadn't been overjoyed to touch back down on familiar soil, and she'd loved journey from Sydney, veritably soaking up the sights of home - so very, very different from where she had been living for the last year or so. And to top off her delight, Dom had come to pick her up at the airport and take the train trip with her, and she'd been so happy to see him that she'd disintegrated into a blubby mess on him.

_But_.

There was always a _but_. And in this case, there were a few of the rotters.

The first was that none of her family had security clearance. None of them could have even dreamt of what she was actually doing. Her mother wasn't the type to ask invasive questions and had been happy with her daughter's linguistic-work-in-South-America story, just glad to have her home for Christmas. Her brother was a different kettle of fish. He'd always been able to read her like an open book - actually, more like an open book with extra large print and big colourful pictures. And she hadn't researched her cover story well enough to stand up against his inquisitive mind - admittedly, the fact that the SGC had booked her a flight from Salt Lake City hadn't helped - and he'd soon tangled her up hopelessly in her own fibs. In the end, she had told him as much of the cold, hard truth as she was allowed - that she was working for the government, and that was that. She wasn't sure he'd believed her, knew that he was wondering what kind of work _she _could possibly be doing for _them_, but by the time their twelve hours on the train had come to an end, he'd grudgingly accepted that it was all he was going to get from her. But it hung between them uncomfortably. They hadn't had secrets from each other before, not about things that mattered.

She stood up, dusted some of the dirt from her freckly legs, then picked up the weed-filled bucket, and took it to empty on the compost heap. Another of the _'buts'_ had been the old man. Her grandfather. Ralph-bloody-Monahan, as she called him in her head. Her grandfather had never approved of what she'd chosen to study. He was of the school of thought - a very common one, admittedly - which said that if you had brains you should study something that would make you money. She should become a lawyer. Or a surgeon. Or a ruddy engineer, goddammit. He could only barely accept Dom's biology, but there was no _way_ he could cope with her 'floating around with her head in the past'. It didn't matter that she had topped all her classes. Or that she didn't have just one Doctorate, but two. No, she wasn't making anything of herself, wasn't achieving anything, wasn't earning well.

She almost hadn't gone to visit him.

And when she did, she'd wished she hadn't. To sit there at the coffee table while her grandmother meekly passed out the lamingtons, and be forced to listen while the old man continued his eternal rant against the life she had chosen for herself - and say _nothing_! Nothing, even though she _was _achieving, and she _was _making something of herself, and she _was _earning well - not to mention the brilliant health scheme (possible consumption-by-Wraith aside). It had been one of the most excruciating things she'd ever done. It was when she left his house that she'd gone and gotten the dragon tattooed across her upper back and shoulders, a beautiful, proud beast with its tail curved down behind the runes she already had up her backbone. It had been her reward - and not a cheap one, in either time or money, or physical pain, for that matter - for keeping her mouth shut. It was also a way of giving Ralph-bloody-Monahan the finger, because if there was only one thing he hated more than her career path, it was her body art.

It was just as well that he didn't know about her usual taste in men.

Men. God. She groaned aloud at the thought as she carried the empty bucket back to the garden. Dom, who'd heard her, took one look at her face and said with a cheeky grin, 'If you're charging up the batteries to start the _there's this bloke I work with and there's no way I could fancy him _rant, the twins and I will go and dig a drain somewhere else.'

She threw a clod of clover-roots-and-dirt at him, and poked out her tongue. 'Like you can talk. All I heard for the first half hour on the train was you raving about the chick with the cane toad thesis.'

Her brother pulled his hat down further against the mid-summer sun and shrugged, 'Trust me, you'd call her sister-in-law material.' He leant his shovel against his hip for a moment, and rolled up his sleeves. His shirt was dark with sweat and black earth, and his arms streaked in it so much so that she could barely make out the tattoo on his arm - the twin of the one she had on her hip, her own name written in the spidery letters. Dom was too deep a thinker to go in for tattoos like she did (since he couldn't prove that he would still want them when he was seventy), but they had had the names done on their twenty-first birthday; it had been his present to her. She smiled at him as he went back to work, the boys behind him making a city in the mud rather than actually helping. It would be strange if he went and got himself married. She wondered if she'd be allowed to come back for it. And then for a moment she frowned. She'd already given Weir his CV in case a place came up for another biologist - to which Weir had arched an eyebrow and said she wasn't sure if the Pegasus Galaxy was ready for a _second _Doctor Monahan - but now she wondered, if he were offered the job, whether he would take it. If there were a girl...

As though he could sense her serious thoughts, he spun suddenly and flung half a shovelful of mud at her, slamming it against her legs. 'Mongrel!' she roared, snatched up the hose and shot it at him full blast. The twins screamed in delight as Dom tried to dodge and got a soaking, and just for the hell of it she turned the water on them too. They were shrieking and yelling when the fly screen door banged loudly behind them and their mother said in a voice that carried, 'Megs? There's someone here to see you, possum.'

She lifted her finger from the hose's trigger, and turned curiously, her front half covered in mud and water streaming down her arms. The man on the veranda beside her mother was doing a very poor job at hiding his grin. _Military_. Just one glance at him and she knew it - she'd come a long way in her time on Atlantis, and though he was dressed in civilian clothes (including a disturbingly loud print shirt), everything in the way he held himself screamed 'officer'. Something shifted warily inside her. What did the military want with her in her holidays? Smiling at her mother he said, in a surprisingly pleasant southern drawl - American - 'Colourful bunch of family you have here, Mrs Monahan.'

The older woman smiled back, 'Call me Bev. And it's the twin thing that does it, I think. I don't believe there were ever twins on _my _side of the family. But Roger's! As for my pair, I think they one got one brain between the two of them.' She laughed, then ordered Hamish, Murray and Domenic into the laundry to get washed down and make themselves presentable enough to sit in the kitchen and have a cuppa. The small boys went obediently, but Dom paused at his sister's side with a grin and raised eyebrows and said, 'Is that _him_?'

'No.' Meaghan smacked him away, deeply relieved she'd never mentioned names in her _there's-no-way-I-fancy-him _rant, and he'd gone grudgingly, leaving her looking stupid with her hose and her mud. The American finally couldn't help himself and grinned, 'You _are _Doctor Monahan, right?'

She dropped the hose and walked up the steps to get a better look at him. She had a feeling that she knew him, but out of context and in civvies she couldn't think whether it was from the SGC or not. She wiped her arms on her shorts and said, 'Twice over, so they tell me. And who might you be?'

'Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell at your service,' He paused and glanced at her and then added with a twinkle in his eye, 'Though you'll forgive me if I don't shake your hand.'

For Meaghan it was like someone had switched a light bulb on. Colonel Mitchell - SG-1. Everyone knew the names of the members of SG-1. And it disturbed her greatly that he had appeared on her mother's veranda, though admittedly, he was rather nice to look at. Excluding the military thing, he was more the type of fellow she usually went for. Nothing even vaguely McKay-ish about him. She smiled, 'Well, now I'm thoroughly freaked out. Have you come to tell me I've been sacked or -' She grew suddenly serious, 'Has something happened in Atlantis?' The fact that it was the _leader _of SG-1 was really throwing her. I mean, unless he'd come down in the world, he was hardly your first pick as a messenger-boy, surely?

He shook his head, 'No, no, everything on Atlantis is fine. And you're not being sacked. Actually, the SGC needs you back at work.'

Happy now that she'd been reassured on those two points, she put her hands on her hips and said in as loud a voice as she thought she could manage without her family hearing her, 'You do _know _that I'm on leave right? I only just got over my jet-lag for pity's sake. And now you're here saying they want me back?'

He grinned slightly, 'Man, I was warned you were an archaeologist with a temper.'

The temper upped itself a notch, 'You have _no_ idea. And I am _not _an archaeologist. I know it's all the same to you military types, but I'm a linguist and a palaeoanthropologist. Call me either of them, or call me Doctor Monahan, but don't call me an archaeologist or I'll call _you_ an air hostess because you happen to work with planes.'

He blinked for a moment under her onslaught, then grinned again, 'Heard and noted, Doctor.'

She decided that his grin was actually rather pleasant, realised suddenly that she had found a potential McKay-antidote, and answered, 'Meaghan.'

'Meaghan then. Now, the SGC said that you could have your leave later. We - SG-1 - want you to work with us for a short period. A fortnight at the max.'

_'What_? You know, I've got plans. I promised my brother we'd go backpacking in Tasmania. Seriously, he turned down summer work in New Zealand because of it.'

He shrugged, 'Nothing I can do about it, though I'm sorry if it screws with your life. You know, the SGC don't believe any of us actually _have _personal lives. But I thought you'd be at least curious to hear what the job was.'

She shook her head, 'I never agreed to work with the SG teams at this end. I'm a civilian, and I work for civilians. There was nothing in my contract about the military. And SG-1 is military as it can get. You're air force, Colonel.'

He pulled a letter from his pocket, 'Er, sorry. But that's how it is. We need someone with your qualifications and we need someone with a powerful dose of the ATA gene. Atlantis sent us an Ancient text that has led us to a planet in this galaxy where we the Ancients were researching ascension. There could be information there that would help us against the Ori. And you were recommended as the best in the field.'

She blinked at him in astonishment, 'Seriously? By who?'

He glanced at the letter doubtfully, 'Er, according to this, Doctor McKay.'

She gaped at him, 'I beg your pardon? I don't suppose this job involves certain death?'

Mitchell raised his eyebrows, 'Um, highly unlikely. But according to this, when he sent the text to the SGC from that artificial world thing you lot have going down, he recommended you as being the best one to help us. Ah,' He glanced at the letter, then at her gaping face, and read with a hint of a smile, _'Very capable and surprisingly intelligent, she's the best one for the job, if you can get past her attitude and the fact that she'll be really annoyed you ruined her holiday. Don't tell her I suggested her.' _Mitchell shrugged and grinned at her stumped expression, 'Guess I should have read that right though in my head beforehand, huh?'


	3. All You Need Is Love

Thirty-six hours and a little over 13,000 kilometres later, Meaghan sat in the SGC and glared viciously at the world in general. Typically for a waiting-room, the chairs were a smidgeon too high for her feet to reach the ground, and so she swung her heavy yellow boots back and forth instead, banging them loudly and violently against the wall behind her. Every now and then someone else in the room would glance at her pointedly, but she just stared right back at them and positively double-dared them to say something. She was simply itching for an excuse to get up and screech at someone - or, even better, belt something. And so for the moment she thud-thud-thudded her heels against the wall.

Not only was she missing her holidays, but she was also missing summer. She hadn't really packed any winter stuff when she'd come from Atlantis - after all, she'd _known _what her plans were - and so she'd ended up rummaging clothes from the boxes that her mother kept shoved in the back of her built-in-wardrobe. Dressed now in a long faux fur coat, and a short tartan skirt, and tights, and her tall yellow boots (which were in fact the only part of the entire ensemble that were actually _hers_) she felt like a bloody Beatles fangirl. It didn't help her mood any that the waiting room was stone cold and so she couldn't even lose the jacket. Budget cuts were one thing, but surely they could afford a heater or two? And she smelt vaguely like mothballs.

Of course, it was really for her family's sake that she was angry. She highly doubted that she would be back by Christmas, whatever the smooth-talking Colonel had said, and she _knew _for a fact that she'd already disappointed Domenic. When he'd been introduced to Mitchell over their mother's compulsory cup of tea and scones, he'd looked the American up and down and then introduced himself as 'Nick'. She realised then that he didn't trust him - to friends he was Dom, to acquaintances he was Domenic, but to people he perceived as a threat to himself or his family, he was Nick. Guessing he was about to put on the only-just-older-but-really-possessive-brother routine, she had steered the conversation in a different direction, but when their mother was out of the room he'd hissed, 'When you said you were working for the government, I'd presumed you at least meant _ours._'

She pulled her coat around her and banged her heels a bit louder.

After that, Dom had put on a friendly front and made jokes about life, the universe, and everything, including (to her mortification) about the mysterious colleague she was 'obviously smitten with'. But before she'd left with her hastily re-packed bags, he'd pulled her aside and demanded one last time to know exactly what she was involved with. She'd looked at him helplessly, and hugged him. But for the first time since she could remember, he'd not returned her hug at all, but just said in a low, hard voice that he was worried about her, and that if she wouldn't or couldn't tell him, then he'd find out for herself.

She turned her banging into Tchaikovsky's _1812 Overture_ and bit her lip thoughtfully. She'd warned Mitchell that her brother might make a nuisance of himself, but he'd just laughed - mainly busy keeping his mind on which side of the road he was supposed to be driving on - and asked her how much trouble one biologist could cause.

Which was proof that while the SGC apparently knew every inch of _her _past, it seemed they had made the error of ignoring Dom's.

'Doctor Monahan?'

She snapped out of her thoughts, and glanced up at the sound of her name. An older man, friendly looking despite his formal uniform. She paused in the drumming of her heels and calculated what rank the various symbols were declaring. Humph. General. She jumped to her feet, yellow boots smacking on the tiled floor, and put her hands on her hips, 'Are you the genius who thought it would be a good idea to drag me all this way, and then leave me sitting in this bloody waiting room for two and a half hours, without even so much as a heater and not a single trashy magazine in sight?'

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but before he could answer, she heard a familiar voice as Doctor Elizabeth Weir said, 'No, actually, that would be me.'

Meaghan spun sideways.

Doctor Weir, Carson Beckett, Radek Zelenka and --

Rodney McKay was staring at her in her long black coat and her short, short skirt, and demanded in disbelief, 'What _are _you wearing?'

* * *

Ohhhh, a hole. A nice big old hole to drop herself into. Why were there _never_ any holes around when you needed them?

She had _thought_ she'd been doing well. The inordinately long and otherwise dull trip from Australia to Utah been made bearable by the Colonel's company. Even with mild jet lag, she'd found Mitchell a lot of fun. He'd laughed in all the right places, had seen all the films that she liked, and seemed more than a little interested in her for herself. She'd made fun of his tropical shirt and he'd made fun of her boots. And he'd been gentleman enough to help her into her heavy coat when they'd hit the American winter, admitting with a broad grin that he thought her inked dragon was kind of cool. He was clearly the sort of bloke that it would be worth a girl getting to know a little better. Hell, man, even her mum thought he was cute!

And then - and then McKay goes and appears out of nowhere and gapes at her like she's wearing a bikini in the Arctic circle, and the moment she sets eyes on him, all she can think about is the last time she saw him and damn it to hell if she doesn't go and blush _again!_

Oh, yeah. A nice big old hole...

* * *

'Doctor Weir,' said General Landry loudly and shook her hand with obviously genuine warmth.

'General,' she smiled in returned, 'I see you've met our pet linguist.' She arched an eyebrow in Meaghan's direction and said, 'I hope you've been behaving yourself, Doctor Monahan. The SGC has been kind enough to make SG-1's current project a joint effort between our two branches, and Rodney and I rather thought that you'd be pleased to be involved. After all, when we found the text and sent it here a few days ago, we presumed that would be the last we'd ever hear of it. But then Doctor Jackson,' her smile broadened when the man himself, Mitchell at his side, appeared around a corner while she was speaking, 'Suggested that we should be involved since we found it. And so here we are.' She paused, 'Well, technically _I'm_ just en route to a meeting with the man with the red phone, but Doctors Zelenka, McKay, Beckett and yourself are the Atlantis component.'

Meaghan sagged. Dammit, there was an intergalactic conspiracy against her. 'You know my family hates you all,' she muttered in a slightly depressed voice.

Mitchell chuckled, 'She's not kidding. I thought that twin brother of hers was going to slash my tyres and lock me in a cupboard for taking her away.'

McKay looked up from the notes he'd been pretending to read (rather than deal with the fact that she had gone and blushed at him _again_, and this time he hadn't even touched her) and exclaimed, 'Your brother is your _twin_?'

Everyone else looked at him slightly amused, their expressions stating that to them, it was old news. Meaghan managed a grin, 'You know I sometimes think that with you, McKay, we should take the time to play those getting-to-know-each-other games.'

Daniel shuddered, 'Oh, those so bring back bad summer-camp memories.'

She smiled at him. They hadn't met, but the fact that he carried a pile of handwritten notes and a pen hinted that they'd have some common ground. And then she did her best to avoid McKay's eyes as Landry and Weir shepherded them all into the briefing room.

* * *

McKay sat himself on the opposite side of the table to her so that he could try and work out if there was something basic that he'd missed. Maybe she suddenly blushed at everyone. Perhaps it was medical - he made a mental note to ask Carson if there was some logical reason why people would suddenly start blushing at you all the time. He looked at her, where she sat determinedly talking with Daniel. He hadn't _meant _to make a comment on her clothing by way of greeting but - well - he couldn't remember ever seeing her dressed in anything other than her uniform, or jeans, or shorts, and some smart-alecky t-shirt. So for her suddenly to be dressed - well - like a grown woman with prettily curved stockinged legs, despite her stupid yellow boots (he'd never realised that her legs might have potential, he'd usually been too distracted by how grubby they were), and her red hair pulled up into one of those complicated hairdo-things that looked like it involved a pair of chopsticks...

He blinked, and realised that someone was talking to him. Mitchell. Ah, yes, the Colonel who was the perfect example of your average military intelligence, which was to say, even slower on the uptake than Sheppard and apparently minus even the redeeming maths skills. He crossed his arms over his chest when he realised what the man was saying, and answered snappily, 'Yes, well, you _would _say that. Personally, I'd like to see your little Ori come to our neighbourhood and do some Wraith-removal before you go blasting them into infinity.'

Mitchell smirked, 'You actually think the Ori would bother with the Wraith? You don't reckon that'd be a bit beneath them?'

'Gentlemen, please!' Elizabeth stared at the pair of them and shook her head, 'Have I missed something or are you _honestly_ bickering about who has the worst bad guy?'

Daniel Jackson took the moment of slightly-sheepish silence as an opportunity to stand up and pass around photocopies of the Ancient text that had brought them all together in the first place. 'This is the document that Doctor McKay and his team found in the - er- Ancient Area 51, as you call it. It has on it a gate address in this galaxy, and refers to a lab where research was being done on ascension. Now, it seemed a long shot that after all this time there would still be something there, and when we did an aerial survey, though we found an advanced civilisation, there was nothing Ancient-looking. However, we thought we'd try underground, and GPR showed a large complex beneath one of the larger cities.'

Doctor Weir skimmed her eyes along the photocopy, though she was already familiar with its contents, and then asked, 'When you say that the inhabitants of this planet are advanced...?'

Mitchell shrugged, 'Think Earth circa 1980. Just about to coast off on a wave of technology and already suffering some of the side effects.'

'And how did they react to you making contact?'

Daniel smiled, 'Locrux, as the locals call their planet, has been under Asgard protection. And so although they were - rather astonished - to see us appear through the gate, not to mention our MALPs and other probes, at least they didn't jump to any negative conclusions. In fact, they've been surprisingly willing to help us and have agreed to allow us to excavate the complex beneath Sagara, so long as some of their archaeologists can help.'

McKay rolled his eyes, 'Been down that path. It only ends in tears. They let you do all the hard work and then take the spoils. _I _should know.'

Weir added in explanation, 'We believed once we had obtained a ZPM only to have it taken back by the locals.'

The General nodded in understanding, and so did Daniel, but the archaeologist continued anyway, 'We've had similar experiences. But the Locruxians have drawn up an archaeological treaty that seems fair enough to me and should mean that any benefits we find _will _be beneficial to us. Now,' he picked up the text, 'If this information is correct, then this complex was a site, as I mentioned, where the Ancients were studying ascension.'

McKay held up a peremptory hand to stop him and said, 'I'm sorry. But if this is right, then that lab must date to before the Ancients went to the Pegasus Galaxy. We're talking millions of years here. What exactly do you expect will still be there?'

Daniel pushed up his glasses a little and said, 'I know it sounds impossible. But when you think about the practically good-as-new state we have found all their roughly 10,000 year old things in, it makes sense that while the older complex should have suffered damage, it will still be relatively like studying, say, Mayan ruins. There ought be something. And anything that could help us against the Ori...'

Carson, who couldn't read the Ancient text, but who _had_ read more of the medically inclined of SG-1's reports, said, 'You think this will be another laboratory like the more recent ones you've found?'

The archaeologist smiled wryly, 'Hopefully not. We don't need another 'son of Anubis' thing going down.'

The Scotsman put his hands flat on the table and commented, 'I think that's a bit different. I mean, so far as I can tell, this Anubis was a bit of a mad bugger. Hardly an Ancient.'

'Oh, there were some whacky Ancients out there too,' said Mitchell with a grin.

Meaghan, meanwhile, finished reading the text, frowned, then put her hand up like a schoolgirl and said, 'It's not so much ascension they were researching.'

The others turned to look at her and she suddenly realised that she was criticising the translation skills of _the _Doctor Daniel Jackson. Thankfully, he didn't seem to be bothered, but leant a little across the table and said, 'I wondered what you'd make of it. How would you render it?'

She shrugged slightly, 'More like advancement in a biological sense. I mean, I know that's part and parcel with ascension but - there's a spiritual element there too, right? Well, this is about making humans physically superior - bringing them to the cusp of ascension but keeping corporeal form.'

Daniel nodded in agreement. Mitchell slapped a hand against the table, 'Now, _that's_ more like it! All the funky superpowers without losing the burgers and football!'

At a table full of nerds, he suddenly found himself the focus of some odd looks. His grin broadened, 'What?'

It was at that point that Colonel Samantha Carter suddenly entered the room with an armful of papers and a precariously balanced laptop. Meaghan had glanced up at her entry, and then stared at the expression of pleasure on McKay's face. And paused all her thought processes in horror. Because in the split second of seeing his face, she had decided that she didn't like Sam.

Oh, ye gods and little fishes, it was official. She was completely screwed.

She was irrationally jealous of a woman who she knew from the Atlantis rumour-mill couldn't even _stand_ McKay, just because his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

That was it.

That was truly and utterly the last straw.

She turned to Mitchell at her side and beamed at him generously.

All she needed was a little TLC from the nice Colonel, and she was sure she'd be cured.

Right?

* * *

McKay was disappointed when Sam dumped the pile of papers and then handed the laptop to Zelenka, saying, 'Well, that's all the data we have from the MALP, the aerial survey, and the GPR. Have fun working through it.'

Zelenka smiled, but McKay demanded, 'And why aren't _you _working through it?'

She shrugged at him and answered happily, _'I'm_ helping run complete diagnostics on the newest 304.' And she waved and scurried out of the room.

McKay sighed, then glanced across at Meaghan. She was saying something to Mitchell in a low voice, and whatever it was had made the Colonel grin broadly. She had her head leant towards the man and was looking at him in the same kind of way that McKay had seen her looking at Ronon when she went and watched him stick-fight during her lunch breaks.

She really was a mystery.

How come she blushed at him, but looked at Mitchell like that?

Women made no sense.


	4. Ticket To Ride

Dom Monahan sat with his head bent towards the screen of his computer, fingers flying deftly over the keyboard as he searched through the bowels of the internet. Everything you ever wanted to know (and a good deal that you didn't) could be found hidden there - not, as his sister would have said, 'in the ether,' but in very specific places. The net didn't hover somewhere in space like she seemed to imagine. No, it was an intricate, physical, web of stored data. The tip of his tongue slipped out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. He might be a biologist, but in the time that his sister had used to get her two doctorates, Dom had false-started three of his own, and one of them had been in communication technologies.

He tapped loudly on the mouse and then swung back in his chair with a triumphant grin on his face as a profile appeared on the screen and a very formal-looking photograph of Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell unfurled itself slowly. He waited for it to fully appear, grabbing a handful of pumpkin seeds from the mug beside his keyboard. He'd only taken the degree for a few months, till he'd learnt what interested him, but it had been enough. Then, of course, there'd been the summer working for the borderline-legitimate, honest-to-god private investigator. Not that it had been terribly interesting. Mostly lost dogs and cheating husbands. But he'd picked up some interesting tricks. Lock-picking, surveillance ... and this. He crunched the seeds between his back teeth and then rolled down the screen, reading the man's records. Iraq. Afghanistan. And then he frowned slightly, eyes narrowing at the mention of a Congressional Medal of Honour for a fight over Antarctica. _Antarctica..._

What the -?

He glanced ahead, scrunching up his nose, and then checked the pathways he had used to access the records. Then rechecked them again. No, it was the real McCoy.

He bit his lip and began to read about something called the Stargate Program.

* * *

Meaghan stood in the SGC's gateroom and listened curiously as Walter's voice stated the obvious over a loudspeaker each time one of the gate's chevrons locked. She really was glad she lived in Atlantis, not Cheyenne Mountain. It wasn't _anywhere_ near as aesthetically pleasing. And what was with the whole glowing-red-instead-of-blue-business anyway? She hadn't noticed that when she'd come through... She unbuckled the straps of her backpack a little so that its weight was slung lower and off her dragon. It didn't hurt exactly - well, to be honest they never _really_ hurt from the moment the needle stopped buzzing - and it _was _six days old already. But there was a certain tenderness to it, and the backpack was heavy, and the ridiculous clothes she'd been given to wear weren't exactly made of the most forgiving material. To be honest, she'd laughed when they'd been given to her, and said no way in hell was she putting on a military uniform. But in the end she'd given in, mainly because, according to Daniel, it was winter on Locrux too and she couldn't exactly go to an archaeological dig in a tartan mini-skirt. Still, she'd at least demanded one of their black outfits rather than the regular kharkis, and had pulled on her yellow boots defiantly over the top of the slacks. Besides, the combat boots they'd given her had been too big, and at least the yellows had sensible soles.

McKay had glanced at her when she'd entered the gateroom, taken one look at the boots and complained loudly to anyone who would listen, 'Why does _she _get away with it, but if I try to wear my own t-shirt, the General comes down on me like a tonne of bricks? Huh? Why?'

Mitchell chuckled, 'Firstly, a t-shirt that says _I Was An Atheist Until Realised I Was God _could be considered culturally offensive where we're going, and secondly, you're welcome to wear a pair of yellow boots if you think you'll look as good in them as she does.'

Rodney blinked in astonishment as Meaghan laughed and moved to the bottom of the ramp where the Colonel stood, and smiled up at him. Bloody, smarmy Mitchell. He was another kirk all over again. Well, perhaps not as bad as Sheppard, but -- but he was kirking _Meaghan_! Right there, in broad daylight, and she was lapping it up. What was it with woman and men with big guns? He paused mentally, decided he was truly glad he hadn't said that out loud, and then, rather than asking himself _why _he was cranky at the sight, he snapped, 'Well, at least you get to practice going through another event horizon Little Miss I-think-I'll-suffocate.'

She rolled her eyes at him and then, when the burst of blue had subsided, vanished through at Mitchell's side.

* * *

Dom sat and stared out the window as the train rushed through paddock after paddock. He glanced at his watch, its face lit up by the milky light of the moon coming in through the window, and the dim reading lamp of the old woman across the aisle. Three more hours and he'd been in Sydney Central. It wouldn't be long before the paddocks merged into bush-covered hills, and then the hills sprouted towns, densely packed in between the mountains and the coast. It had been a miracle that they'd still had a seat free - even more extraordinary that he'd been able to book a last minute ticket on a flight out, especially considering how close it was to Christmas. He didn't want to think about how he was going to pay off his credit card.

He stared out at the moonlit countryside as it flitted by - the silver of wire-fences glinting, the grubby paleness of dirty, skinny sheep huddled in sleeping mobs beneath patches of gums. He felt bad about his mother, had expected her to make a fuss. But she'd just smiled and pulled his head down by the ears so she could kiss him on the forehead, and said that she was proud of him. Proud - proud because he'd told her that there was an extraordinary job offer in Wyoming. He understood now why Meaghan made up tales for her.

He'd eventually found _her _file. He'd moved from Mitchell's to someone called Jackson, from Jackson to a General, and from the General to a woman - a civilian woman - named Weir. And with Weir he had discovered that there was more than 'just' the Stargate Program. That there was a whole international expedition of people in another _galaxy _on the other side of the _universe_, dammit, and that his sister was one of them. He'd jumped from file to file of the people in Atlantis. Read about creatures called the Wraith. Read about plagues, and destruction, and the disintegration of five-sixths of a solar system...

Seen how many of the files came to an abrupt and unpleasant end.

He stared out at the night sky and tried to imagine that she had spent the last year somewhere out there, in amongst the stars. Tried to imagine what it must have been like to keep it to herself.

* * *

Although she was a country girl born and bred, Meaghan had spent time in enormous cities. Shanghai, Karachi, Jakarta. But nothing she had ever seen, no where she had ever been, could prepare her for the sight that was Sagara. The stargate was set upon a hill, like the Parthenon in Athens, and when she had come through she had moved out of the others' way and then just stood and turned in a slow circle. It was only the second planet she'd been to (unless you counted Earth, and the watery world that was home to Atlantis) but it was_ nothing _like Alba had been. In every direction, as far as the human eye could see, sprawled city. No. Sprawled was the wrong word. Sprawled evoked the broad streets and leisurely backyards that she would expect in a Sydney suburb. No, this wasn't a sprawl. This was a clutter; a cramming; a suffocation of construction. Buildings rose up in every available space, and the whole world seemed alight with the hard glint of steel and stone and glass.

It was like something out of a 1950s science-fiction novel.

Then she stared wide-eyed up at the sky. God, it really _was _like science-fiction. It was like that place in the Star Wars movie - not one of the old ones, with the every-so-sexy Han Solo, but one of the newer ones - that place with all the traffic in the sky. Coruscant. Well, this was like that. She pointed wordlessly above her and McKay glanced up and said, 'Oh. Now that _is _impressive.'

It was no wonder that no-one had freaked out about the MALP or the UAV. No-one would even have noticed them amidst this cacophony of metal.

Carson, who seemed as taken-aback by the immensity of the place as she was, stared around and then commented, 'I was half-expecting a welcoming committee.'

Daniel shrugged, 'I suppose they feel that I know the way by now. Come on, we'll introduce you all to the Chancellor first, and then I'll show you the dig itself.'

Meaghan caught back an inane giggle. Man, a _Chancellor_. Seriously, she knew other countries had them but - 'If you tell me his name is Palpatine,' she said in a low voice, 'then you can dial that thing-' (this pointing at the DHD, a device she'd not seen before) - 'and send me right back home.' McKay snorted.

A narrow, black stone path led them directly from the stargate to a large square building with sheets of glass spattered regularly across it. From the outside, it had to be one of the ugliest things she'd ever seen, but when they entered a few moments later, she caught back a breath of surprise. They found themselves in a spacious entrance, and the tall windows that had blinked so horridly from outside were revealed as actually being made up of a myriad of smaller cuts of colours, so that the light poured through them and drowned the white polished floor in a merry rainbow of every shade imaginable.

The moment they had entered, a young woman in a severe suit-dress had risen up behind a counter and hurried towards them, smiling and exclaiming, 'Doctor Jackson, Colonel Mitchell, welcome back. The Chancellor will be pleased to see you have returned so promptly, and with the others as well, oh, very pleased.'

Meaghan glanced at Mitchell sideways and asked in amazement, 'They speak English?'

He shook his head, 'Nope. She's got some cool earpiece thing that translates for us and for her so that we all know what everyone else is saying.'

She blinked, 'Well, then I'm out of a job. Surely if something needs translating, you can just read it to someone with one with one of those devices, and they write it down in their own words, and then when they read _that _back to you, you've got it in English.'

McKay and Zelenka were just as impressed, and the Canadian demanded, 'You said Earth 1980s. How do you figure that? These people have toys even we haven't developed yet!'

The Colonel glanced at the woman pointedly, 'Have you _seen_ what she's wearing?'

McKay looked blank, but Meaghan had to silently admit that he had a point. Seriously, nothing but the eighties on Earth could have produced something that hideous in the clothes department.

The woman touched her earpiece, and then beamed, 'The Chancellor will see you now.'

And beside them, a door slid open.

* * *

After the simple beauty of the rainbow-spilt entrance, the Chancellor's office seemed unpleasantly ornate. The walls were papered with richly decorated designs, and rows upon rows of shelves filled with vases, statues, and odd devices all competed for the eye's attention. But despite the clutter, the room seemed colder than it ought, and she was suddenly glad for her stupid military jacket. It took her a few moments to adjust to the pale light of the fittings that hung between the shelves, and so at first she couldn't see the man who spoke, just heard his voice saying, 'Doctor Jackson, Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell, how charming to see you again. Doctor Lee and his team will be most glad to hear you have returned.'

(McKay snorted softly; if Lee was running the show, they'd be lucky if anything was in one piece by the time they got there.)

Meaghan looked at the man as her eyes adjusted. He had stood up behind his desk as they entered the room, and inclined his head politely. He was tall, and pale, and with a cut of face that her mother would have described as brutally handsome. She had an instant suspicion that she wouldn't like him, and when his dark eyes raked her up and down in a slow sweep, her suspicion hardened into certainty.

'These must be the people from the other team,' he continued softly, 'Yes, yes, Doctor Jackson has told me _all _about you. How you live in a mystical city built by the eternal ones whose sacred complex beneath our great city you now wish to explore. I am not so backwards as many of my people, and I understand the importance of the discoveries that could be made. Progress, my friends, comes in many different forms.' His eyes settled on McKay and he continued, 'And you must be the one who found the document that led you here.'

McKay stared at him right back and said bluntly, 'Yes, but how did _you _know?'

Daniel turned and glanced at them, 'General Landry insisted on seeing the full records of the Sagaran archaeologists who have been assisting us, and in an example of good will, he likewise gave yours to Chancellor Argennos. Actually, the Chancellor played a part in selecting you.'

Meaghan felt a shiver run down her back at the thought that this man knew so much about her. Hell, even_ she'd _never read the file that they kept on her. And she'd thought Weir had chosen her?

'Oh,' said McKay, 'Well then, I won't bother introducing anyone.'

The Chancellor smiled smoothly, 'Then allow me. You are Doctor Rodney McKay. That is Doctor Radek Zelenka, while this here is Doctor Carson Beckett - who bears the same title and yet, I understand, is a different type of doctor. And this young lady must be Doctor Meaghan Alathea Monahan. It is a pleasure to meet you.'

He nodded at them all as he spoke, but somehow she had the distinct feeling that his words were addressed to her alone. McKay meanwhile, had glanced at her and mouthed '_Alathea?'_ to which she'd just mouthed '_Meredith_' right back, which shut him up.

The Chancellor stepped gracefully from behind his desk, the wan robes he wore shivering along the floor, and then - without so much as looking at her or asking permission - he took her arm in his and led her from the office and out of the building. She shot McKay a pained look, silently pleading him to come and somehow save her from the man's firm grasp, but the scientist was too busy gazing up at the traffic passing overhead to notice her distress. She would normally have just pulled away, but somehow she felt -- it was hard to explain.

As a second option, she tried Mitchell, who grinned and managed to insinuate himself between her and the Chancellor, effectively breaking the tall man's grasp. She sighed in thankful relief as the American engaged the Sagaran in a mundane and rather irrelevant conversation, and rubbed her arm where he had held her. There had been something in his touch that made her skin crawl. Though she couldn't have explained why, there was something about this man that was pushing all her panic buttons - and she had a suspicion that he knew it, because there was a dark edge to the smile he sent her over Mitchell's head. In the sunlight, Argennos was even more handsome - but it was a cold beauty, like a marble statue.

* * *

It took only a few minutes to reach the 'dig'. Nor was that surprising when you thought about it, because, as Zelenka said, it made sense that the Ancients would place the two items in close proximity. She did, however, think that the term 'dig' was a bit of a euphemism. At any rate, it wasn't like any dig _she'd _ever been on. It was a small area, cordoned off, amidst a bundle of high-rise buildings that made her head spin when she arched her neck back to see how tall they were. The surface of the ground had been peeled back to reveal the dirt beneath. A short, balding man - who she soon learnt was Doctor Lee - stood around with a couple of people obviously form Earth, and a handful who, just as obviously, were Sagarans. She wasn't sure what they were doing, since it seemed to just consist in standing around and looking at the dirt patch as though it were going to excavate itself. She watched with a faint smile playing on her lips as McKay made a beeline straight for Doctor Lee and started picking holes in the things that had been done so far. She crept up behind him and whispered, 'McKay, who died and made you an archaeologist?' At the feel of her breath in his ear he'd jumped about a foot in the air and then just blinked for a moment, his train of complaining completely and utterly lost. She grinned in broad satisfaction at the reaction she'd caused - revenge, she thought, for having made her blush not just once but twice now - and then introduced herself to Doctor Lee.

He really was a funny little fellow. He'd actually clapped his hands in delight and asked Daniel, 'Is this our ATA gene woman? This _is_ our ATA gene woman, right?'

Daniel had nodded and Lee had grabbed her enthusiastically by the arm and pulled her onto the dirt section. She saw suddenly why they weren't digging anymore. Smack in the centre of the dirt patch was a small panel with Ancient markings. She read them swiftly, then said, 'Well, that's a problem.'

Mitchell shrugged, 'We were hoping that you could sort of think your way around it. You're supposed to be as nifty as O'Neill or Sheppard, and I've heard of some of the whiz-bang things they can do.'

She stared at him, _'This_ is why I'm here? I gave up my holiday because you want a - a - a _can opener_?'

Daniel shrugged, 'I'm sure we can think of a more flattering way to look at it. And we _do _want your help with translation.'

'But McKay has the gene - Doctor Beckett -'

They just shrugged at her, and for a moment or two she looked frustrated, then knelt in the dirt beside the seal. 'Fine. Well, if this is what I'm here for, then I can damn well assure you I want a look inside if I get it open, right?'

She bent her head over the panel and stretched her fingers across its surface, and concentrated.

She would have been surprised to realise that McKay was smiling absently at the familiar way her curls had escaped her clumsy braid (actually, _McKay_ would have been disconcerted to realised it as well), but she would have been truly disturbed to know that the Chancellor's face had a smile of deep satisfaction as he watched her kneeling in the dirt. And his hand twitched in a small victorious motion when there was a deep clicking sound and the panel shifted beneath the influence of her mind.


	5. Day Tripper

'Don't touch that!' barked out McKay. Doctor Lee jumped as though the panel they were working on had suddenly sprouted teeth and threatened to maul his hand off. McKay shoved him impatiently aside, scowling as he rearranged the crystal-and-metal mosaic they were tinkering with, and complained mercilessly, 'Honestly, are you actually _trying_ to seize up the entire system? You do realise that this is million years old tech you're playing with? You can't pop online and pick up a replacement if you break it!'

* * *

A day and a half had passed since Meaghan had used her mind and her ATA gene to click the first seal open. The moment she had, the soil beneath her had collapsed and dropped her with a graceless thud into a cavity below. She'd struggled to her feet, snorted dirt out of her nose and called up in a voice dripping with sarcasm, 'Don't worry about me, fellas, I'm just _great_ down here.' Apparently, they had expected that that would happen, because they'd just glanced at her covered in earth and started arguing about whether that had or had not been the 'hard part'. She'd stared up at them in disbelief, then unbound her braid, and tipped her head upside down to try and shake some of the grit out of her hair.

Mitchell and Doctor Beckett had leant their heads over the edge of the pit, and the Scotsman had asked kindly, 'You alright, love?'

She righted herself again, stuffed her scraggly curls into a ponytail, and smiled up at him gratefully, 'I've had worse, thanks Doc. But you're welcome to join me.'

And the pair of them had half-shimmied, half-dropped down onto the pile of dirt that moments ago had seemed like such solid ground.

'Did _you _know it was going to do that?' she asked the Colonel accusingly.

He had the decency to look embarrassed. 'Well, Lee _had _suggested something along those lines. I mean, we'd tried digging but got nowhere, like there was ten foot of cement laid down. And then that little old panel sitting there so innocent-like in the middle...'

She thumped him hard in the arm, and he grinned at her infuriatingly. Carson glanced at them, then survey their surroundings and said in a dubious voice, 'Bloody awkward front door.'

Jackson dropped down beside them and said, 'That's because it wasn't.'

They all looked at him, except Mitchell, who had obviously heard it all before, and had wandered off a little to inspect the panel-lined wall at the furthest end of the pit.

'So why come in this way?'

'Because we can't _find _the front door. If you look at the general shape of the complex, from what information we have sorted through far, and admittedly, Doctor Zelenka is still working on it, we _think _that the 'front door' is somewhere under the government buildings. And, as accommodating at the Chancellor has been, I think pulling down his seat of power so we can take a peek at what's underneath would probably be pushing the friendship a little.'

Meaghan glanced up at Argennos where he stood, watching the scientists argue with an amused expression on his face, and then turned her attention back to Daniel, asking with her hands on her hips, 'Right. So now that I've made my delightful descension into the dirt, can you do me the favour of telling me _why_? I mean, Doctor Beckett, you _do _have the ATA gene, right?'

He grinned sheepishly, 'Obviously you've never seen me using it. It's rather like trying to entice Ronon into a deep and meaningful conversation - which is to say, a long and painful process for all involved.'

'But McKay then. You retrofitted him.'

The Doctor chuckled, 'He underwent vivo retroviral gene therapy, yes, though your term quite takes my fancy. But it seems that some Ancient security devices require a greater developed psychological component. We know that while the mere presence of the gene should in theory make all gene-carriers equal, it clearly doesn't. Consider for example what Colonel Sheppard and yourself can do without even concentrating, compared to someone like me. And you, quite frankly my dear, seem to have accelerated much faster than anyone else we've seen. Hence the suspicion that there must be more to it than simply one's biological make-up.'

She nodded, decided she wouldn't mention the hours she had spent gleefully switching lights on and off, and making doors move, and admitted, 'There certainly has been a leap in the last few months.'

'My point exactly, Doctor Monahan.'

She smiled - practically only Doctor Weir actually used her whole title in normal conversation, and even then it usually meant she was getting into trouble for something - and told him to call her Meaghan. She hadn't had all that much to do with Atlantis' chief medical doctor - which was probably a good thing considering the most frequent reasons on Atlantis for needing his presence - but she'd only heard good things about him from Ingrid, and _she _had to work with the bloke on a daily basis. Mm, and then of course Laura occasionally spilt the odd little story over drinks at Girls' Poker Night...

The pair of them turned their attention to studying the pit that Mitchell and Daniel were already scrutinising with such enthusiasm. Three walls were made of earth, curiously coloured as they revealed the strata of the ground they had been carved out of. It was odd to think of living soil beneath this monstrosity of a metal-and-stone city, and the walls were so reminiscent of a geological diagram in an archaeology or textbook that she found herself labelling the layers mentally. And then - no organic matter. This soil had been sealed up beneath stone for an awfully long time.

The fourth wall, and obviously it was that wall which had the men's fixed attention, was covered in panels similar to the one she'd moved, though clearly more intricate and slotted with crystals and small cubes of metal. And in the middle of the panels there was a strip with Ancient glyphs engraved on it.

She reached his side just as Mitchell asked, 'So, what's it say?'

She glanced at it, grinned, and before Daniel could answer replied in a smart-alecky voice, 'In loose translation? Keep the hell out, wouldn't you say Doctor Jackson?' She reached out a hand and rested it against the cool metal, running a fingernail down the engraved lines. 'We're going to have some fun with these. Somehow, I think it's going to take more than a little cute application of mind power to make this particular teaspoon bend.'

That, then, had been a day and a half ago.

Daniel had finally shouted up at the scientists to quit their bickering; and the work had seriously begun. Zelenka had pulled up a chair and table from somewhere and started working through the data Sam had given him, trying to calculate the exact dimensions of the complex and how deep it ran, what it was made off, and how it was keeping them out. Daniel and the Sagaran archaeologists had begun to sift through the dirt that had collapsed into the pit, clearing it away slowly and revealing a floor covered in metal tiles laced with Ancient inscriptions. And Meaghan and Carson had stood around talking about life, the universe, and everything, while Lee and McKay argued about the combinations of panels that would be required to gain access to the complex. Occasionally, he'd grudgingly get Meaghan to translate something more complex, but mostly she kept out of the way until they had decided on a combination. Then she and Carson would apply it - watch it fail - and then the bickering would start all over again until they tried a new combination.

* * *

'Idiot,' muttered McKay loudly.

Lee pulled a monkey face at his back and Meaghan grinned. It was disturbing that anyone could do as good a monkey face as Lee did, and it always made her smile. Actually, although she would never have dreamt of admitting it - after all, she wasn't going to let them forget they'd hijacked her holiday, and she had every intention of milking it for all it was worth - she was really quite enjoying herself.

She watched as the Canadian tinkered with the panel, then leant over his shoulder and observed in a sing-song voice, 'You know, McKay, that's _exactly_ how you had it fifteen minutes ago.'

He looked at her crossly, 'Don't be stupid. Of course it isn't.'

'Is too, genius.' She pointed at the crystals and the way he'd moved the small metal fragments that made up the larger panel, and said, 'That is _identical _to how you had it a moment ago. It didn't work then, and it won't work now.'

He opened his mouth to yell at her, then glanced back at the panel, suddenly uncertain. 'Is not,' he muttered.

She smirked at him and tweaked his earlobe. He jerked away, 'Personal space, Monahan!' He sketched an invisible circle around himself and looked violated, 'Per-son-al space!'

Mitchell, who had somehow found himself what looked suspiciously like a beach chair, and had done nothing since they'd arrived except laze on it, generally getting in the way of both scientists and archaeologists alike, while tossing a tennis ball up and down, chuckled and said from beneath his dark glasses, 'You gunna get girl germs, Doctor McKay?'

McKay snorted, decided it didn't even deign an answer, and turned haughtily back to the panel, muttering, 'I _know _what I'm doing.'

She shook her head, deliberately put her hand through his invisible personal-space-circle, and patted him on the back in a sort of sarcastic sympathy, 'You're such an egomaniac, McKay. I don't even know if that word exists, but if it does, you're a prize specimen.'

'Some linguist you are then,' he grumped, then paused and glanced at her, 'And what's that supposed to mean anyway?'

She shrugged, 'Means you think you know it all just 'cause your brain's bigger than ours.'

He grinned triumphantly, and waved the tool in his hand like a baton, 'Ah, yes, but you _admit _that it's bigger!'

She glanced at Lee, who was such a funny old pumpkin, winked, and said, 'Ah, yes. There's _size_ and then there's _application_...'

McKay growled and threatened her crankily with the tool in his hand, and she backed away laughing loudly, almost stepping on Daniel who knelt behind her and glanced up with a mischievous smile and said, 'I hope you're still talking about brains, Meaghan, because that sounded eerily like a Vala statement.'

She laughed a little more, and in her effort to both jump out of McKay's range and avoid stepping on Daniel, she lost her balance and came very close to landing in Mitchell's lap. He'd dropped his tennis ball and grabbed her by the waist before she could completely wind him, and then wriggled over and dropped her onto the chair beside them. It creaked in protest under their combined weight. The Air Force man looked over his sunglasses at her and said, 'You wanna watch where you walk around here. The place is crawling with archaeologists.'

She smiled, and then from where she sat leaning against him sprawled there, took a good long look at his sunnies, and his stupid tennis ball, and the earphones of an mp3-player hanging loosely at his neck, and asked, 'Why do I feel like it's you who's getting the holiday I was due?'

He groaned playfully, 'Oh, Lordie, she's playing the guilt card!' Then he smiled and patted the P90 he had slung against the side of the chair, safety-on, and said, 'Landry insisted I tag along, even though Jackson said it was unnecessary. And so,' he rolled his eyes, 'I'm your token military man.'

She crossed her legs and relaxed a little back into the space he'd made her, 'It does seem a fraction like over-kill. You know though, that's actually been weirding me out a fair bit. I mean, we've been here, what, thirty-six hours or so? And it's this enormous city, with all these buildings, and all that never-ending ruddy traffic overhead, but except for the archaeologists, the secretary yesterday, and Darth Vader himself, I haven't seen a single local. Even last night, in the room they gave me - sheets turned down, a hot bath run, the works - but not a person in sight.'

Mitchell, who was still grinning at her pet name for the Chancellor (and honestly, she was dead grateful that today he hadn't come and leered at them with those eyes of his), said, 'I know what you mean. Jackson and I wondered about it almost as soon as we got here. Apparently, not everyone agrees with what we're doing and so this part of the city has been sealed off.'

She blinked, 'It's _that _unpopular? I mean, he mentioned something about it yesterday, but -'

The Colonel shrugged, 'Seems to be. So far as I can figure, some people think that we're committing sacrilege by what we're doing here. Apparently the Sagarans take the religious beliefs very seriously and this place is mixed up with them - hence Landry barking at McKays's shirt yesterday... though he ought'a seen what reaction my Grandma'd have had to it.' He paused to grin at the thought, and then added, 'Still, I think it's mostly political.'

She bit her lip, 'Sure... I mean, there's almost always an element of politics involved in archaeology. Just look at some of the issues we have back home - or in your country. The whole sacred site question, for example, gets tangled up with so many other things. But - it's still pretty extreme to shut down a whole part of a city this size.'

He shrugged again and tossed his tennis ball up and down a few times, 'I think we're supposed to view it as a sign of the unequivocal support that the Chancellor has for what we're doing here. That, and he doesn't want us to see any underbelly this place might have.'

'Politics really _does _suck wherever you go.'

He laughed loudly, and exclaimed, 'That's _exactly _what I always say,' and only just stopped himself from slapping her happily on the back. She smiled at him having caught himself - pretty sure that it wouldn't have occurred to say, _McKay, _to be so considerate, and said in sudden generosity, 'I don't really feel it any more. Would you like to see it now that all the red is well and truly gone?'

He smiled, 'Sure thing.'

She pulled off her jacket, then leant far forwards where she sat and pulled her shirt up over her shoulders, one arm keeping her front half decent, and grinned at him over her shoulder. He nodded, 'Pretty impressive.'

The dragon had an arched back and unfurled wings. She was rather proud of it. It wasn't just a tattoo - it was art.

'What _are _you doing?' demanded McKay's voice and she suddenly felt his shadow pass over her bare skin. 'My God!' he exclaimed, 'She's gone and got a new one.'

She beamed up at him, fighting back the shiver that had passed through her belly as his shadow touched her - it was a _shadow_, dammit! - and said flippantly, 'You know, Rodney dear, we never did get around to having that whole barbarism-in-modern-society conversation.'

She reached back around and pulled her shirt down, and straightened herself up again. He had his hands crossed over his chest, 'That's not barbarism, that's masochism. To actually voluntarily submit to that -' He paused in his rant and added quickly, as though embarrassed that he was curious, 'Doesn't it _hurt_?'

She smiled, 'Not as much as you'd think. Well, I mean, _sure_, but it's sort of like - well, like it hurts so much for so long that you can roll your eyes back into your skull and let it wash over you till you don't feel it any more.'

He shook his head, knowing _he'd_ never do something like that, and went back to his work muttering, 'You need your brain scanned. It's just not natural.'

'Tell that to 30 percent of the population between 24 and 34,' she called cheerfully to his retreating back, then wrinkled her nose at Mitchell, 'Well, in your country anyway.'

Mitchell leant back in his chair again and murmured from beneath his sunglasses - actually, he made a shocking habit of muttering, when she thought about it - 'So. You know this dinner that the Chancellor and the Opposition Leader have invited us to..?'

She glanced at him, 'Mm, Doctor Jackson mentioned something about it. Tonight, right? Probably be tediously dull, but I guess we ought go.'

He nodded. 'That's how I see it. Besides, both our bosses will be there, so it's not like we can get out of it. But since that's the case... you wanna go with me?'

She shrugged, 'Well, obviously I -' then paused, glanced at him sideways and asked, 'Ah - Lieutenant Colonel, are you asking me to make a date out of it?'

He smiled, 'If you've no objections. I mean, if you weren't planning on going with someone else.'

She glanced at the scientists working on the panels. McKay swore loudly, threw the tool he'd been using onto the ground and started to verbally tear Lee to shreds. She sighed, then smiled at the American, 'No, I wasn't planning on going with anyone else, and what on earth could there be to object to? I'd love to go with you.'

* * *

Somewhere far, far away, Meaghan's brother Domenic left the airport, and dropped his bag at his feet to rummage through it and find some gloves. He'd already pulled his overcoat on before he'd even left the plane since it only took one glance out the window as they hit the tarmac to know that it was going to be unpleasantly cold. Damned stupid idea coming to Utah in the middle of winter, though he supposed he could just be grateful it wasn't Alaska. He found the gloves, zipped the bag back up again, and slung it over his shoulder. He supposed he should find accommodation for the night before he did anything else, and stared walking down the road. He was just trying to remember if hitchhiking were legal in the United States when an unmarked van screamed to a halt beside him, and he found himself being bundled roughly inside. He didn't even have time to wonder what the hell he'd gotten himself into, before the world went black.


	6. Do You Want To Know A Secret?

'Doctor Monahan.'

A male voice. Foreign accent.

The sound of it worked its way into Dom's head and he cracked his eyes open painfully. The blaring white light of a powerful lamp was aimed directly at him and beyond it he could only just make out the general shape of the man speaking. The outline shifted slightly on its chair, but even just that small motion had something of arrogance in it. 'Doctor Monahan, how nice of you to join us.'

Dom's brains hurt as though his ears had been compressed against his skull, but when he went to see if he had a lump, he discovered that his hands were bound.

Except for the fact that this was actually happening, he would have laughed. He was honest-to-god tied to a chair in a blackened room with some man whose face he couldn't see talking to him - like he was in a freakin' mobster movie.

He shook his head slightly to try and clear it, then demanded, 'Who are you? What do you want with me?' And then, running the tip of his tongue over his cracked lips, added, 'How long was I out cold?'

The faceless man laughed and when he spoke his voice carried the hint of a smile, 'So many questions, so little time... well, actually, I'm letting the drama carry me away. In reality, we have all the time in the world, Doctor.'

Dom pulled hard against his bindings.

The man shook his head, 'I assure you that you won't be able to free yourself. And even if you did, where were you planning on going? I'm right here. Do you think I'll just let you walk past me with a pat on the head for being a clever little boy?'

Dom paused. He wished he could place the accent. Not American, anyway, which was truly throwing him off balance. Well, the whole damned situation was throwing him off balance. But either way, he stopped struggling. When it came down to it, he was much more rational than his sister, and he acknowledged the truth in the man's words, even if he didn't like it. 'You never answered my questions,' he replied angrily.

The man's unbodied voice hummed in amusement for a moment and then said smoothly, 'Let's just say that I'm the one here of his own free will. Which makes _me _the one who asks the questions. What business do you have in the United States, Doctor Monahan?'

Dom's mind raced. This _had _to be about Meaghan. Surely this was about Meaghan! God, what had she gotten them into? He shrugged, 'I've got holidays.'

'Why spend them here?'

He shrugged again, trying to look cool, as though he weren't tied to a chair and being interrogated with stupid questions that made his intestines curl in nervousness. 'Why not? Why do people go anywhere? I threw a dart at a map of the world and got Colorado Springs.'

The man chuckled, 'Fortunate for you that it didn't land on Siberia.'

Dom shrugged again, looked defiant, 'Yeah. Isn't it though? I hear it's a real mongrel this time of year.' And all the while he spoke, his brain was whirring. This couldn't _really _be happening. This was too surreal. Things like this didn't go on in the real world. Well, not in his world. If this man was do do with Meaghan - what was he? Military? Was this about the hacking?

'What is your business in the United States, Doctor Monahan?'

'I already -'

The fist crashed into the side of his skull without warning, swinging his head back and making his jaw click. He stared in pain and shock, bound hands bunching into balls, and craned his neck around. Another man stood behind him, face covered in a dark balaclava. God, he hadn't even known that he was there. How could he not have know? The fact that he hadn't, the fact that somebody could stand there so silently, that he hadn't even heard the bloke _breathe_, frightened him. Dom worked his jaw and felt a small sliver of fear slip into him.

'Why come to Colorado Springs? What do you want here? Is it the military base that interests you? Are you perhaps a terrorist, Doctor Monahan?'

This had to be a joke. Now he did laugh, though the sound of it was edged with a dose of panic. 'Are you kidding? What are you, SSB? Is that it? You're Strategic Support Branch, right? And you honestly think that I - what? - have come here to blow something up? I wouldn't even know where to start! I'm a freakin' biologist for crying out loud!'

The fist slammed against him harder this time, and he tasted blood in his mouth. The sliver of fear grew into a full-grown ball of cold terror in the pit of his gut and he was suddenly, finally aware of the danger he found himself in. Nobody even knew where he was. He'd been screwing around inside classified government files, and now he was here, and nobody even knew where he was. He'd told his mother he was going to Wyoming. He sucked down the salty blood and said, 'I'm Australian. I don't care about your politics. I'm not a terrorist.'

The dark outline of the man leant fowards a little, 'And yet you are a very political man, Doctor Monahan. You write letters to your local member of parliament. You have liberal leanings. You serve regularly with militant environmental groups. Why, just a few years ago you were charged for distrupting the peace.'

It had actually been Meaghan who'd thrown the stone, with her ever-volatile temper and typical lack of forethought. But she'd had a dream summer job lined up in Indonesia, and so he'd taken the rap - and the police record. 'We were protesting,' he said, 'It got out of hand.'

His interrogator suddenly changed tact, 'Why did you hack into United States Air Force confidential files and then fly here immediately afterwards, Doctor Monahan?'

Dom blinked. Oh, hell. So it _was_ about that. 'I didn't -'

This time the blow to the head made him see stars and he felt a warm trickle of blood run down his cheek. Oh, crap, crap, _crap_.

'Why do the records of USAF personnel interest you?'

What was this? Defence Intelligence Agency? He kept his mouth shut.

'Why were you visited by a USAF Lieutenant Colonel just a few days before you came here?'

His head jerked up. It was like a bucket of cold water. If they didn't know _that - _the whole ball game had just changed. He realised suddenly that the accent was South African.

Ba'al leant into the light and asked with a smile, 'Tell me, Doctor Monahan, exactly what role does your sister play in the Stargate Program?'

* * *

Somewhere across the galaxy, Doctor Elizabeth Weir sat at a well-decked dinnertable with what she hoped at least resembled a demure expression on her face. It wasn't that she usually cared what others thought about her, but the President had had some less-than-flattering things to say about her command - and about some of her people working under that command - and so she had decided that for everyone's sake she would make an effort to stay on her best behaviour until the _Daedalus_ returned to take her home.

She paused at the thought and wondered when Atlantis had become 'home' in her mind, instead of Earth. She suspected it had begun with the break from Simon, and been cemented with her relationship with John. John - who she was missing acutely. John - who had been one of the reasons that the President had found for complaint. Apparently the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff wasn't impressed that her military CO was also her live-in-partner. It was the first time she had returned to Earth since their relationship had become public knowledge, and was only just realising quite how lucky she had been that the IOC had had no real complaints about it - she hadn't known just _how _close she had come to losing her job. But, as it was, the issue was causing a slight rift. The civilian body had interpreted her move as another example of why the 'expedition' should be officially redesignated a 'settlement', with an increase of both civilian and military presence moving into the city and an alteration of the social structure. The military, on the other hand, were still resisting the change in status, and viewed her relationship as nothing more than an example of bad judgement.

She sighed, wiped her mouth on her napkin, and pushed her plate a little away from her to show that she had eaten her fill. There were still umpteen meetings with different departments in both the IOC and the SGC, and incalcuable quantities of formal dinners which would no doubt be just as tedious as this one. She smoothed down her dress a little - simple and black - and wished that she could have brought John. Obviously, given the political implications of their relationship, she was glad she hadn't. But at least then they could have made a date out of it. As it was, she found herself seated next to the Locruxian Chancellor and although she was an accepting person both by nature and as a career habit, there was something about him that made her glad she didn't have to deal with the man on a daily basis. But now she smiled politely and asked, 'I understood that the Opposition Leader was also going to be present at this dinner?'

Argennos nodded, 'Most certainly, and Legate Rushman asked me personally to convey his apologies at his absence. He very rarely makes public appearances, but I do believe he was willing to make an exception in your honour. Still, work duties...'

Landry glanced around the table with a grin and chuckled, 'A public-shy politician. Now there's a combination you don't see every day.'

The Chancellor inclined his head, 'I believe that politics here and politics on your planet, from what Doctor Jackson has explained to me, are not dissimilar, General Landry. But Legate Rushman is an unusual man. He prefers to let his actions speak for him - or so he says continuously in the press.'

Elizabeth glanced down the length of the table to where her own people from Atlantis sat, eating and laughing amongst themselves, and wished heartily that she'd been seated at that end herself. 'I understand that you and the Legate find yourselves almost equal in popular opinon, Chancellor,' she commented, and took a sip of her wine.

Argennos smiled, 'Yes. And with elections in eleven months time, we find ourselves both in the same position of searching for that special something which will launch one ahead of one's opponent.'

She arched an eyebrow, 'And yet you _both_ publically endorse our actions at the archaeological site? I would have imagined - given it's apparent lack of popularity in certain parts of your socieety - that Legate Rushman would have spoken against it as a tactical move.'

'He understands as well as I do the potential importance any finds could have. Locrux is a world deeply interested in medical advancement, Doctor Weir, and all kinds of biology. That this complex was indeed, as you tell us, a medical laboratory...' He paused, 'However, I do not believe that Rushman's public words are the same as those which he speaks in private. It is because of him and his followers that I have sealed off the sector to keep your people safe.'

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell was in an incredibly good mood. The food had been great, and, more importantly, there'd been lots of it. And although he wasn't a wine man by preference, he really thought he could get attatched to the taste of this Locruxian stuff; sort of blackberryish. And _then_, to top it all off, after everyone had finished eating there'd been a scurrying of silent staff as a long row of doors were thrown open to reveal a large empty room with a floor so polished you could used it check your face for schmutz - and a band had started up.

'Dancing!' he'd exclaimed with enthusiasm, bounced straight to his feet, and asked Meaghan if she'd do him the honour. At first she'd thought that he was joking, and had shaken her head, protesting that she'd just stuffed herslf so full she couldn't possibly move let alone dance. At which point, McKay, who'd been in a foul mood all evening, made a snorting noise and said rudely, 'Colonel, do you _honestly_ think Monahan would know her left foot from her right?'

She'd glared at the scientist, cranky because it was his fault that she'd spent the rest of _her_ day in an equally sour mood - sour because she had spent it worrying about whether or not Colonel Carter might have been invited, in which case she'd have to sit and watch McKay gleam at her - but most of all sour because she cared. Now she snapped, 'Oh, and I suppose you're a regular Fred Astaire, right?' And she'd grinned at Mitchell and let him pull her to her feet and lead her to the dancefloor. Then he'd found the rythmn of the music, taken her in his arms, and whirled her happily around the room. A few minutes later the room was full of Locruxian guests, all moving to a slightly difference type of dance, but Mitchell didn't care.

He didn't in the least regret having asked the little linguist to accompany him and make a proper date out of it. She'd piqued his interest when he'd first seen her back in her mom's garden, covered in mud and screeching fit to raise the dead. But he'd gotten a delightful surprise when he'd arrived at the room she'd been given, to take her to dinner, and discovered just how well she could scrub up. Okay, so she was never going to be your typical glossy magazine beauty. But with her hair swept up, and the curls escaping mischeivously, and wearing a long green dress with a curved cut and an open back that dipped to show off all her inked lines, she was inordinately appealing. And by the astonished looks on the scientists' faces when they'd arrived, it was pretty clear that they'd been just as surprised as he was. God only knew where she'd gotten the dress though. He'd have staked his bank balance on the fact that she'd surely never packed it when she'd come.

And so he was enjoying himself an unexpected amount as he danced her around the room. He smiled, a hand resting loosley on her hip, and said, 'Well, was McKay ever wrong. Where'd you learn to dance?'

She laughed. The wine had made her cheeks pink. 'McKay, McKay - what would he know? He's ignorant of everything around him except for science. Where did I learn?' She smiled, enjoying the movement of the muscles in his shoulder beneath her hand, 'Ballet and barn-dancing. The ballet was my grandfather's idea - hated every minute. Thank God I had the wrong figure for it and they gave up on me after a few years. But the barn-dancing, now - that's fun.'

He grinned, 'Why am I not surprised? We can throw a mean barn-dance back where I come from too.' And he spun her a little on the spot so that her skirts swung out and swished against his legs.

'You know,' he continued, as the music changed to a slower tempo and she leaned in against him slightly to catch her breath, 'I don't think I've ever been out with a woman who could combine a ball gown with body art _and _barn-dancing.'

She grinned up at him, 'Well, that can be a first for you. If it's any consolation, I've never been out with a military type before, least of all one in his dress uniform.'

'A military type,' he quipped back at her, 'You make me sound like a brand of something.'

'Mm,' she said with a wink, 'Gotta put people in boxes you know.'

With the change of music he had put both his hands on her hips and now he walked one slightly up her backbone. 'I've been meaning to ask you. All that talk of your brother's, back when we met?'

She stiffed slightly in his arms, which was more of an answer for him than any other she could possilby have given, and said, 'Which bit? Dom talks a lot. He just opens his mouth and things come out. I think it's a genetic trait.'

He tilted his head to one side, but kept them moving to the music, 'About you being smitten with a colleague. Not that it's any of my business really, but -'

She bit her lip for a second, then smiled almost regretfully, 'But you're a gentleman at heart beneath it all, right? I know, I already guessed that.'

He looked at her, 'Well? Who's the lucky guy then?'

She grinned a little, 'At the moment, apparently you.'

And he grinned back and tightened his grasp, happy enough with that. Although she hadn't really answered his question, _he_ knew now exactly where he stood with her, even if _she_ didn't. And it didn't escape his notice when a few minutes later her gaze turned yet again towards the dinner table and he wondered curiously which of those unlikely canditates it could possibly be.

* * *

At the other end of her gaze, McKay and Zelenka sat and watched the dancers. Well, Zelenka watched them, while McKay stared fixedly at Meaghan where she danced in the arms of that self-satisfied, smug Colonel. Radek smiled slightly and said,'You know Rodney, you could always go and ask her to dance.'

McKay blinked, 'Me? Me dance? Me ask who to dance?'

The Czech waved his glass in the general direction of the dancefloor, 'Her, the little Doctor Monahan. You've been staring at her all night.'

McKay almost spilt his drink, 'I have not. In no way have I been doing anything of the sort. I was - was gazing into the distance absently.'

Zelenka grinned, 'Rodney, my friend, you are an extraordinary specimen. I tell you, you haven't taken your eyes off her since she came through the door on his arm.'

Rodney looked offended then complained, 'Well, it's not _right_. I mean, all our half-decent civilian women get kirked by the military. There should be some sort of regulation against it. It's the - the princple of the thing.'

His friend chuckled, _'Half-decent_? I don't think she'd be impressed by the description, Rodney. You need to work on your compliments if you want to woo her away from him.'

'I -' the physicist started to protest a loud voice, then stopped when he realised that Radek was only teasing him. The two men fell silent for a moment, just watching the dancers. Then Rodney banged his glass down against the table in sudden frustration and whinged in a fiercely aggrivated voice, 'Well, how was _I _supposed to know that under all the bad-hair and opionated t-shirts, there was _that_? What, am I mean to be able to deduce it by some kind of mysterious scruffiness-paradox? I mean, sure, I won't say I haven't looked before, but -' he stared at her a little desperately, 'I never guessed she was _hot._'

Radek grinned into his drink. Sometimes, for a genius, McKay could be incurably dense.


	7. Devil In Her Heart

‘_And I don't wanna be the one! And I don't wanna be the one! I'm just an innocent bystander in the path -'_

Meaghan had arrived at the dig while the sun was still rising over Sagara; a red ball blazing against the pink smoggy sky, slashed in half by the buildings rising up around her. She had rolled back the heavy tarpaulin used to cover the pit and then slid quickly down the ladder, its metal so cold in the early morning air that it tried to stick to her skin. Then she'd walked along the planks lain down by the archaeologists to protect the tiled floor, placing one yellow boot in front of the other like a little girl walking precariously along the garden fence. A moment later she'd been deep in her work, kneeling awkwardly on one of the planks and sifting the next square of dirt due to be done, trying to keep her mind on the job at hand while her lungs sang along loudly to the gravely voice of Peter Garrett and the rest of _Midnight Oil _pumping through her iPod.

‘_And I don't wanna be the one!'_

She'd been at it for a few hours. She'd cleared one whole tile and found nothing more interesting than what looked suspiciously like an Earth-made button which had most probably dropped from one of their own jackets. Still, she'd recorded it obediently under Doctor Jackson's system and put it labelled to one side with a shake of the head.

The work was oddly therapeutic in its manual repetition - rather like scrubbing down the bath. But though the loud rock music was _supposed_ to be stop her from thinking, it wasn't terribly effective. She'd had a lot of fun at the dance, and then Mitchell had walked her home in the small hours of the morning. They'd come to a halt at her door, and she'd said awkwardly that she would invite him in, _but_...He'd just laughed and tapped her lightly on the nose and said, ‘But underneath it all you're as much a gentleman as I am, I know.' And she'd grinned at him and punched him in the arm for calling her a man - though she knew he was just quoting her own words back at her. It was odd how life worked. She had firmly and callously intended to use the Colonel as nothing more than a distraction, and somehow he had seen through it all, pushed beyond it, and managed to turn himself into a friend. Talking to Cameron had been the most fun she'd had for a long time; she hadn't just _waffled _like that in ages. Not even with Ingrid. Not even with Dom, since the whole Atlantis thing had hung between them distractingly.

But it was proof, of course, that he really _was _the type of man a girl ought to snap up, if only she could convince her stubborn heart -

She hadn't been able to sleep thinking about it. That was why she had come so early. Better to work then lay in bed and brood. Now she shook her head, wiped her dirty hands on the seat of her slacks, and then turned the music up even louder, returning to sifting dirt.

_‘I'm back on the borderline...'_

* * *

While she knelt in the dirt and worked, Daniel, Mitchell and Elizabeth sat around a table in Daniel's apartment - which was larger and more luxurious than the others, since Argennos considered him the leader of the archaeological delegation - and sipped the coffee that Elizabeth had brought with them; real, roasted, Latin American stuff. She'd had it waiting for her in the SGC when she'd arrived through the gate from Atlantis, but this was the first moment she'd had to really stop and relish it.

‘Not bad', commented the Colonel. Daniel and Elizabeth exchanged the amused glance of coffee connoisseurs, then Elizabeth breathed in the scent like it were incense, and murmured, ‘Worth coming half way across the universe for...' She wrapped her slender fingers around her mug and smiled, ‘I envied you last night, Colonel. Daniel and I had to sit through the dullest of political conversations. It appears Argennos is convinced that Legate Rushman is out to see our work stopped.'

Daniel glanced at her, put his mug on the table, and said, ‘I share your scepticism. On the other hand -' He glanced around as though fearing hidden cameras, despite the fact that Mitchell and Lee had both gone over the place with a fine toothed comb. ‘There _are _certain minorities that _do_ concern me. Two in particular. The Locruxion Citizens for Biological Advancement - or LCBA - who take the Chancellor's enthusiasm for medical research to what verges on a Mengele extreme. And then, not surprisingly, a group of Naturists who take the opposite view.'

‘Naturists?' repeated Mitchell with a slight smirk over his coffee cup, ‘Isn't that another name for nudists?'

Elizabeth and Daniel exchanged another amused glance, ‘Not here, but it's how it translates - well, they might be nudists too for all I know - but basically, they believe that human development should occur at its own rate. I think they're a bit pantheistic into the bargain. They _could _truly give us problems.'

Mitchell grinned - ‘I wonder why. I mean, excavating an ancient med lab with Argennos constantly spouting all that jazz about biological advancements we'll find.' Then he yawned loudly.

Daniel looked at him with a knowing expression, and commented slyly, ‘So, what time did _you _get in?'

Elizabeth chuckled, ‘Yes, don't think I didn't see you dancing with my linguist, Mitchell.'

‘He arrived _and _left with her.'

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, but Mitchell just grinned, ‘Not that I'm a kiss-and-tell kinda guy, but I hate to break it to you, Daniel, it appears said fair maiden is already taken.'

The fair maiden's boss glanced at him in surprise. ‘Really? I hadn't heard anything.'

He shrugged leant forwards curiously and asked, ‘Tell me, which of the scientists you brought does she regularly work with?'

The leader of the Atlantis expedition leant back in her chair and burst into laughter, ‘Oh, tell me no.... that would be _just_ what we needed!'

* * *

McKay stood at the panels, tinkering. He held what looked suspiciously like a dog-ordinary screwdriver in one hand, and had an inordinately smug look on his face. He was in such a good mood in fact that it had reduced poor Bill Lee into a bundle of shaking nerves as though he were worried that the extreme change in temperament was some kind of eye-in-the-storm - or maybe demon possession.

The Canadian had done a lot of thinking during the night, moving his impressive brain from A to B and then reaching C. A was his sudden realisation that he found Monahan attractive. B was that her blushing probably meant that she thought he was attractive too - something that McKay's equally impressive self-esteem didn't find at all difficult to imagine - which made C the presumption that she was just waiting for him to make the move.

He'd arrived to find her already at the dig - in the dirt - well, half the dirt on her as usual - and for a moment doubted his eyes that this was the same woman she'd been the night before. So he'd walked around her on the planks to view her speculatively from all available angles. She'd paused in her work and stared up at him wide-eyed, pulled an earphone from her ear and demanded, ‘McKay - what the hell are you doing?'

He'd shrugged and grinned a little grin, ‘What does it look like?'

He moved behind her and she swivelled her head with a baffled expression and said, ‘It _looks _like you're checking out my backside.'

‘Would that be a crime?'

Her eyes had almost fallen out of her head. Zelenka, who was listening, and who'd heard McKay try out similarly ill-thought-out comments on women before snorted in disbelief and watched the pair of them with the sort of fascinated horror you'd watch an out-of-control car.

Meaghan had stood up very, very slowly, and asked, ‘Are you on something this morning?'

He'd crossed his arms over his chest, ‘Oh, _please_. I've worked it all out. All that blushing, and then the whole enticing me into playing monopoly thing. You so want me.'

She stared, ‘I beg your pardon? Firstly, it was _you_ who started the monopoly, because you're such a foul loser and secondly... McKay, my God, if you think this is the way to make a woman's day then you'd better take lessons, Don Juan.'

He rolled his eyes, ‘But you're not denying it, are you, huh? The whole Mitchell thing, I get it _now..._You wanted to make me jealous, right?'

A whole truck-load of thoughts rushed through her head. One of them, unpleasantly, was that on some devious, subconscious level, he might be right about Mitchell. But the dominant one was - _you arrogant bastard, I have no idea what I find appealing about you and if I could pin point it I'd do a John Crichton and get someone to pull it out._ (She could just imagine it, the odd alien with his face mask and his squeaky voice leaning over her on the operating table - 'Favourite dogs?' 'Oh, keep them.' 'Attraction to McKay?' 'No, God, no, get rid of that, please!')

She pulled herself to her full height, which considering she was a good thirty centimetres shorter than him didn't mean much, and demanded, ‘And pray tell what brought on this great revelation of yours, genius?' She was furious that she couldn't honestly deny his accusations.

He shrugged, ‘I saw you dancing last night and it just fell into place. Nice dress, by the way. You should wear them more often.'

God... That was it. That was what it was. It had taken a dress, taken her to look _nothing _like herself, taken that for him to notice her and realise she was a woman. Ohhhh noooo, she wasn't going to have that. She came boots and all. ‘McKay,' she said in a quiet, dangerous voice that would have done Elizabeth Weir proud, ‘You. Are. Insufferable.'

He grinned, not in the least bit phased, and slapped her on the bum as he walked past - seriously, honestly, actually slapped her on the bum! - and went to work. _Of all the -_ she would have been in a rage against him if she wasn't too busy yelling at herself inside her head to keep that stupid grin off her stupid face. _Oh, shoot me now..._

* * *

She was still in shock at her own reaction to his arrogance when one of the Sagaran archaeologists appeared at her side, and asked, ‘Do you mind if I join you?'

She shrugged, shook herself back into the present, and said, ‘Be my guest. I'm sure you've had more practice at this then I have anyway.'

‘You're not an archaeologist, are you?'

‘No. Linguist. But Carson's busy talking to Mitchell, and I'm sick standing around twiddling my thumbs waiting on their beck and call.' Now she looked at the woman curiously. She hadn't really had a chance to speak to any of the Sagarans. They'd all been too busy, and had mostly kept with Daniel Jackson. But she had noticed that they were all remarkably attractive.

Now the girl smiled and said, ‘I'm Eldra, by the way. You couldn't sleep last night?'

Meaghan shot her a surprised look. ‘No. Have I got bags under my eyes or something?'

Eldra looked baffled for a moment - apparently as clever as the translation devices were, some things could be a little obscure - and then laughed, ‘No. It's that my husband and I have the apartment opposite yours and I saw you kept turning your light on and off. If there's a problem -?'

Meaghan shook her head, ‘Nothing anyone else can help me with. Just, life.' She grinned, and then continued, ‘You said that you're married?' Eldra seemed very young, but then cultures were different.

The Sagaran smiled, ‘Going on two years now.' Then her smile suddenly morphed into a beam and she said happily, ‘I just found out that I'm pregnant. That's why _I_ couldn't sleep and was awake to see your lights. My husband is out of the city and I'm waiting to see him face-to-face - you're the first person I've told.' She looked terribly excited and Meaghan found it was infectious, ‘Oh, congratulations! Will he be very pleased?'

‘Oh, _yes. _We've wanted a baby since we married. This is the first one to pass controls.'

Meaghan, who had been bathing her mind in happy maternal thoughts and imagining how delighted she would be to be married and pregnant herself - despite her protestations to her grandfather that she was happily single - suddenly jerked her head up, ‘_Controls_? What does that mean?'

‘Controls- ' the Sagaran looked confused for a moment, ‘You don't have that?'

Meaghan put her sieve down. ‘Not if you mean what I think you mean. Are you saying you've been pregnant before, but this was the first child considered perfect enough to let you carry it to full term?'

‘Yes, of course, exactly. One was slightly asymmetrical, and two had just-below-acceptable IQs. It's been terribly disappointing for us. But this little fellow is just right.' She put her hand on her still-flat belly.

‘How the _hell _do you test the IQ of an unborn baby?'

Now Eldra likewise put her sieve down, somewhat taken aback by the harshness of Meaghan's voice. ‘Locrux is a very advanced world,' she said a little offended, ‘Our medicine ranks highly. _That_ sort of thing is simple to test.'

‘But it presupposes that a foetus has its own individual mind - and yet you terminate them?'

Now Eldra looked shocked, ‘Of course not!' Sudden understanding passed over her face, ‘Now I see why you reacted as you did. No - not termination. They are simply extracted and transplanted to the womb of a woman from the servile class for her to bring up.'

Meaghan stared at her, ‘So - all the staff - they're actually - _servants_? And - and they're the imperfect children of people from your class?' She had always thought that she was culturally accepting and liberal minded, but now she found herself reacting like McKay would if faced with a group who believed firmly in fluffy pink flying elephant gods. Dammit, it was like something out of _Brave New World_!

Eldra picked the sieve back up, and returned to her work, ‘Of course. How else can we advance the biology of our intellectual class? And in your world - you just take whatever comes?'

Meaghan nodded, then shook her head, then said, ‘I think _most_ people do. I mean, there are some who screen for diseases or defects... and I guess some must use those facilities to get a specific sex or something even if technically they're not supposed to. Personally, I had always rather hoped I would be strong enough to accept whatever was thrown at me. I always wanted kids -' she glanced at Eldra ‘Twins perhaps, they run in the family.' But she felt uncomfortable talking now, and for the first time had _really_ come to realise that she was on a foreign world. And unlike Alba with funny little Smo and his blessings for her, she really wasn't sure she liked this one.

* * *

‘Monahan!' McKay stood right in front of her. She glanced up and blinked. Carson was already waiting at the panels - she'd put her earphones in after the disturbing conversation with Eldra, and hadn't heard the physicist barking out her name. Now she untangled herself from her music and looked at him cautiously, ‘Yes, Casanova?'

He smirked, obviously interpreting that as a compliment, and said, ‘We need you over there to play safe-break again. I honestly think I almost have it, you know, it's so close.' Then he paused when she stood up wiping her hands off, and said, ‘You know, hazel eyes, you really could consider putting your hair up properly more often, rather than just - this.' And he actually lifted up her ponytail and shook it a little.

She rounded on him, ‘McKay, not that I'm not flattered that you've suddenly opened your eyes and noticed I'm female, which is a credit to your observation skills... But don't you think I'm going to find it a little offensive that you're only interested since you saw me dressed-up?' She must have spoken louder than she'd intended to, because everyone had paused in their work to watch them. But neither she nor McKay were the type of people to let an audience stop them arguing. He pouted and retorted just as loudly, ‘Well, you can hardly blame me! Just look at how you usually dress!'

‘God, that is so _male_! Has it occurred to you that I wasn't even dressed up for you? You might have noticed that it was Cameron I came and left with! You could have asked me yourself if you'd wanted, but no, normal social conventions don't apply to Doctor McKay, do they?!'

He snorted, ‘Normal social conventions? This, coming from you?! You, Little Miss _I-don't-even-wear- shoes-if-I-can-help-it_! And what reason would I have had to ask you? It wasn't like you'd ever made a move!'

‘Me? What the hell do you expect me to have done? Crawled all over you or batted my eyelids or something? God, McKay, has it ever occurred to you to try being a gentleman?'

‘Oh, you mean like Mitchell? Or _Cameron_ is it now?'

‘Yes like Cameron!'

‘Well, if he's so great, then how come you sent him packing last night on your doorstep, huh?'

She went dead still. ‘Meredith Rodney McKay, were you _spying _on me?'

He looked put-out at the public use of his full name, but realised suddenly at the same time that he had made a mistake and tried to bluster, ‘My rooms are next door, how could I not see?'

She narrowed her eyes and commented in a dangerous voice, her heart pounding in her ears at the realisation that he might possibly be jealous, ‘You know, I already broke your nose once, McKay. Now, are we going to work or what?'

He winced slightly at the memory, and then hurried past her to where Zelenka, Lee and Carson stood watching with their mouths slightly ajar. There was a flurry of anxious movement as Meaghan glared around at the pit at their audience, and everyone rushed back to work as though they hadn't really been listening.

* * *

She stood at the panel and rearranged the crystals sullenly, her hands shoving them angrily in place as McKay instructed. What made her most furious of all was the knowledge that he was right. He just didn't have to be so damn smug about it - didn't have to take it so for granted.

Mitchell, who had stood against the wall and shook his head slightly during their domestic, came and leant over her shoulder to see what she was doing and smiled at her friendlily. McKay took one look at him and snapped angrily, ‘Unless it's important, Mitchell, you can take yourself right back to where you came from and keep out of my way.'

‘Dammit, McKay, that's _enough_!' Meaghan yelled at him, shoving the crystal she'd been holding so violently into the panel that it almost shattered. Carson stared at it as it flickered slowly - once, twice - and then gleamed a vibrant blue. He started quietly, ‘Er, Doctors...'

They both ignored him. Mitchell was holding up his hands and trying to back away, but McKay continued despite Meaghan's outburst, ‘You think you're so good prancing around in your military uniform but in the end it's always us who have to save the day! And would you _stop _kirking our women!'

‘_Doctors_...' tried Carson again.

‘_Your _women?' shrieked Meaghan, ‘We're not property! And it's not like you've ever been man enough to actually make a move yourself! If you weren't stuck in your bloody science twenty-four-seven you might notice that it's not Mitchell I watch all the time!'

There was a sudden silence as she realised what she'd said. Mitchell grinned wryly, ‘She has a point, McKay. Though God only knows I find it somewhat incomprehensible that she could turn me down for _you_.'

‘And he's not the only one!' she yelled.

‘_Doctors!!_' roared Carson. They stared at him, shocked. He nodded, thanking them for the attention, and said ‘You might be interested to know, that when Meaghan shoved in the last crystal, the passage opened.'

And so it had. Deep and dark, it had widened when the crystal had gleamed blue. They all stared at it.

Which was why none of them noticed as the bomb dropped into the pit, rolled a few feet across the ground, and then blinked ominously.


	8. The Inner Light

**(The Archaeological Dig, Sagara, Locrux)**

All around them the world contracted, tightened, and then shattered outwards into a thousand tiny pieces. There was a roar and a scream and then the suffocating cloud of dust and grit and slivers of crystal enveloped them. Metal from the panels flew with the force of knives. The roof of the hallway they had opened seconds earlier collapsed to become ground, and the ground rose up to meet the roof. The blast of the energy wave knocked Meaghan from her feet like she'd been broadsided by a speeding roadtrain, and the next thing she knew she was sitting in eerie silence, dust raining down on her softly, and her eyes staring off into nothingness.

She blinked, stood up, and actually had the presence of mind to marvel that she was in one piece. Her leg hurt like hell and she when glanced down she rather wished she hadn't, because the sight of the piece of metal sticking jagged through her trousers and into the flesh of her thigh made her blanch. She couldn't see the blood in the weave of the dark fabric but she could feel it, warm and wet, against her leg. Her bare lower arms, and her face, were covered in a fine net of scratches and cuts, and when she put her hands to her head she found blood amongst her hair. Oddly, the head wound didn't hurt. She supposed she was still in shock, and decided vaguely that whoever had invented it as a survival mechanism had known what he was doing.

She looked around. The whole world had been torn asunder. Bill Lee propped against a pile of dirt, his head in his hands, moaning. Eldra, laying crooked on the ground. She stepped closer to the Sagaran, then quickly stepped back and away, knowing at a glance that the girl was dead, turning and throwing up on the ground at the sight, trying to erase the image from her mind. Metal, the same type of fine, silver metal that had seared its way into her leg had caught the archaeologist at the throat, severing - Meaghan had seen enough horrors during her work in the morgue. She could recognise the very dead. And so she wiped the vomit from her mouth and stood up, turned her face in the opposite direction.

Then her heart skipped a beat.

_Rodney_.

It all rushed back to her - their stupid argument, the fact that he had been beside her - and her dazed state vanished and all she was left with was cold hard fear. She tripped over warped metal and stumbled on clods of dirt in her haste to scramble to him. Ignoring the agony of her hobbling leg she knelt at his side, and touched his cheek gently with the tips of her fingers as though afraid that she'd find him as dead as Eldra was, scared he'd already be a stone-cold corpse. He lay at such an odd angle, like a rag doll that had been tossed in a corner by some wilful toddler. But his skin beneath her fingertips was warm, and when she rested her hand gently against the middle of his chest, she felt his heart beat.

He was alive.

Oh, God, thank you, he was _alive_.

A deep breath she hadn't even known she was holding came rushing out of her and it was moment or two before she realised that there were tears streaking down through the blood and filth on her cheeks. She snuffled, brushed them away gruffly, smearing mud and salt and snot along the rolled-up sleeve of her jacket. She picked pieces of debris off him, careful not to move his body in case there was something broken inside where she couldn't see it, and gripped his hand tight in hers. Then she leant over and felt his breath against her cheek.

‘Oh, thank God you're alive.' It came out fervent like a prayer. She hadn't prayed in years, but she prayed now. _Please let him be alright, please let him be alright, please let him be alright_. ‘McKay,' she said, ‘McKay, Rodney, wake up.'

His hand still gripped in hers, she turned - pain shooting blindingly, agonisingly through her thigh until she almost blacked out - and managed to yell, ‘Somebody help me over here!'

She knew that others would be hurt. She supposed that she ought go and assist rather than sit staring stupidly and uselessly at the unconscious scientist, but she couldn't make her legs work. Somehow, they simply refused to stand up, and despite the severity of the wound, she didn't think that was the cause. She just couldn't leave him like this, laying here like this, alone. _Wouldn't_.

‘Oh, wake up, you idiot,' she murmured at him, running her free hand across his forehead.

Behind her, she could hear people shouting. Hear the cries of pain as they became conscious of their wounds. The cries of horror as, probably, they saw Eldra. Maybe others like her. She'd been so young. Been so happy.

McKay groaned suddenly, shifted slightly, and then groaned louder when he realised that his entire body was screaming out in pain. For a moment, a second, a heartbeat, he opened his eyes, looked straight at her and said, ‘Oh.' Then he lapsed straight back into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

She had started to bawl irrationally again at the sound of his voice, and as she snuffled and blew her nose on her shirt she was almost glad that he wasn't awake to see it. But in her head, she was elatedly praising that her prayers had been answered; _thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you_. She knew that Rodney would have snorted and rolled his eyes at her ‘superstitious nonsense' but she was too pleased he was truly alive to care.

It was at some stage in the those next ten minutes, after one of the Sagaran women had started to wail loudly, and before the medics had arrived to take them to the hospital - in those ten minutes while she knelt beside him with her hand clutching his and her tear streaked face resting ever-so-gently against his chest so she could hear his heart beat - that she gave up. Gave up, gave over, gave in. Backed down. Folded. Surrendered. Confessed to herself that she may as well admit that she had lost, and stop trying to pretend otherwise. Because no matter how fast she'd run, her emotions had somehow caught up. Even if he was the most arrogant, bad tempered, cynical, brilliant man in the universe, she didn't think she could bear to lose him.

A trickle of blood ran down her face from her hairline and seeped into his shirt.

It was just possible that despite all her best intentions, she had fallen in love with him.

* * *

**(Near Colorado Springs, Utah, Earth)**

‘_Tell me, Doctor Monahan, exactly what role does your sister play in the Stargate Program?'_

Dom had stared at the man with the South African accent and the olive complexion and had said quite truthfully that he didn't have the foggiest idea. The answer had earned him a broken tooth.

He'd lost track of time since then, thought perhaps a few days had gone past, the moments punctuated by sleep and water and questions and beatings.

And now they had dumped him unceremoniously back on the roadside again. He stood beside the bitumen, his sports bag at his feet where the balaclava-man had flung it, and watched as the van vanished around a corner and out of sight. Gone. Gone, but not out of his life. His legs were weak beneath him and he swore when they wobbled as he leant down to pick up the bag and pull it painfully over his shoulder.

He had learnt a lot after his inerregator had come into the light. Granted, it had taken a while before they had started to believe one another's respective stories - that Dom honestly knew nothing about his sister's job - that the man was called Ba'al, was an alien, was some kind of politically motivated _creature_... So many things that a few days ago Dom would simply have laughed at, taken as a bad joke.

_‘What role does your sister play in the Stargate Program?'_

It had all been about Meaghan. All along, it had always been about her. _What is so special about her? What can she do? Why was she chosen?_ Dom had answered that he'd read something about some gene. Ba'al had looked impatient, said that was the only answer he'd found himself, that he knew that, but that surely it couldn't be that simple.

The questions had danced back and forth, Dom collecting new wounds, but also information on the way. That Ba'al was only interested in Meaghan because he had found out that some other creep, on some other planet, was. That Ba'al's informants had told him she was offworld, that she and another Doctor had been handpicked because of the gene they naturally possessed. That for some reason the retro-activated gene carriers weren't good enough. (To Dom, as a biologist, this made no sense. Surely two carriers of the same gene must be equal, however they obtained it.) That Ba'al didn't believe that could be all it was, that he had sent his own men to this planet, that they had struck a deal - promised great weapons and political alliance in exchange for the biological developments that were planned. Ba'al had talked a lot.

Which was why Dom was so scared stiff that they had released him again. What did that mean? Had they somehow planted something on him, so that he wouldn't be able to tell what he knew? Had he inadvertently told them something that Ba'al held in such high value that he thought it was worth giving Dom his freedom for? Was he just sure that people wouldn't believe a word the Australian said?

So now he stood at the side of the road, bag on his shoulder, legs weak, and shivered. His head hurt like hell, his lips were cracked, he'd lost a tooth, cracked a few more, and his right eye was swollen almost shut. He suspected that he looked like he'd been in the mother of all bar fights - and lost. He wished it were that simple.

Why had they let him go?

A deal had been struck, yes. But how could Ba'al be so sure that Dom would keep his end of it?

He turned, and to his surprise found an old man standing about a foot away from him, staring at him. He wore a long ragged coat and clutched a bottle in a brown paper bag with loving affection. At his feet sat an ancient yellow dog, apparently better fed than the man himself. He reeked, the man, when he stepped closer to Dom and whispered, ‘You've been in the wars, son. I blame it all on the aliens. Yup. It's all the aliens fault.'

A week ago, Dom would have tossed him a coin, laughed good naturedly, and told him to get something to eat and take a bath. Now he shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of his bag and said, ‘Tell me more.'

* * *

**(The Government Building, Sagara, Locrux)**

‘How _could_ this have happened!'

Elizabeth stood in the middle of his office, despite having been repeatedly offered a seat, her anger and her pain etched clearly into the lines of her face. Chancellor Argennos frowned up at her. ‘Please, Doctor Weir. I have already told you that as soon as I have a satisfactory explanation for these terrible events, I will share them with the Earth delegation. However, the simple truth is that we don't know yet. These things happen - politics is a cruel game. And while I understand that you are aggrieved at your loss, I -'

‘_Aggrieved at my loss?_'

Daniel stood up as well and put his hand on her arm, but she jerked it away from his grasp. Now wasn't the time to be soft and diplomatic. Now was the time to see justice done. Still, she lowered her voice a fraction and continued, ‘That's simply not good enough.'

‘We _were _assured that we were safe,' intervened Daniel in a calm voice. He was just as angry as Elizabeth, but was doing a slightly better job at concealing it - though, admittedly, not of his people had been _too _seriously injured, except Mitchell with a few broken bones, whereas Elizabeth -

‘One of my men is dead, Chancellor! Two of my people have been badly injured, one is still in a coma, and one of my men is _dead_. Now I don't know how you feel about the people you work with, but many of my colleagues are also my close friends. I'm not _aggrieved_, I'm devastated! And all you can do is say that you're sorry and as baffled as we are?!'

He rose to his feet with an arrogant grace, as though he'd finally had enough. ‘Doctor Weir! I am no happier about this than you are, and may I remind you that Sagarans also died! I simply don't _know_ who the perpetrators were! Rushman's men? Naturists? Some rogue element that are is just emerging? _When_ I know, you will get your justice. In the meantime, I am going to have to ask you to leave Locrux. I won't put up with any more of this ridiculous behaviour!'

Daniel, despite being shocked by the tone the Chancellor had taken, had already moved at little closer to Elizabeth as though worried that she might actually physically attack the politician. He should have known better. She had converted her anger now into an ice-cold demeanour and had no intention of raising her voice again, her eyes glinting silent and dangerous. But at that moment, a pair of guards entered the room and pulled her without warning from the room. Daniel gaped after them, ‘_Chancellor -!'_

Argennos slammed his fist into the table with such a force that objects rattled and a vase teetered off the edge, breaking into pieces with a dull crack as it hit the hard floor. ‘_No!_ Doctor Jackson, I will _not_ tolerate any more! You may remain because I _will _have this excavation completed. But there will be no more of this childish arguing.'

For a moment Daniel was deathly silent, his anger clear on his face and his eyes dark beneath his glasses. And then he said, very softly, ‘Don't you find it very strange that the bomb wasn't detonated until after we got the hallway open?'

The Chancellor sat back down in his chair, all signs of his rage vanished except for the broken vase on the floor. ‘I'm not sure what you mean, Doctor Jackson.'

Daniel rubbed his hand across his forehead. ‘As I understand it, had the bomb gone off before the hallway had been opened, then it would have stayed shut. Neither Locrux nor Earth have the technology to force it open with panels damaged and we already knew that we couldn't dig or blast our way in with it sealed. So why, if the aim was to stop our progress, would they wait till that moment, wait until access was assured? Although the tunnel has collapsed, now the panels are down, it's just a matter of old fashioned digging to clear the way again.'

Argennos shook his head mildly, ‘I'm sure I have no idea how the minds of terrorists work.'

Daniel looked at him searchingly, trying to keep down his dislike, ‘I don't think we should continue this dig. I think you can go ahead on your own if you want, but my people and I are returning to Earth.'

Argennos smiled, ‘No, Doctor Jackson. I don't think you are. I think you will stay right here and fulfil the terms of our treaty.'

‘One of our men is dead, Chancellor. Dead, and not even a body left to take home.'

The man wrapped his slender fingers around the edge of the desk and looked at Daniel archly, ‘_That_ does not affect the science we might find.'

* * *

**(Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Utah, Earth)**

Domenic and the old bum, whose name he had learnt was Terence, sat crouched in silence and stared at the military base. They watched as a pair of guards marched around the inside of the tall, wicked looking fence. It had taken a while to get to the complex, since the three of them - a smell old homeless guy, a mangy yellow dog, and a young man with unwashed long red hair and badly beaten face - hardly radiated the appealing type of look that you want to give a lift. But in the end, a man with a two-day beard and a tinnie in his hand had said they could climb in the back of his ute so long as they kept their heads down beneath the cover, ‘cause he didn't want no trouble with the pigs.'

Dom had had other equally pressing reasons to keep his head down.

He was acutely aware that Ba'al would have ways of knowing whether or not he was keeping his end of the bargain they'd struck. And right now, he was breaking every single stipulation.

The hair on the yellow dog's back rose into hackles and Dom looked in the direction she was staring. Oh, _crap_. That was exactly what he'd feared. _Why _hadn't they listened to him? He'd stood at the fence, trying to get the men on patrol to take him to General Landry. They'd said he was drunk, said he was high, said he was mad, said he was a damned nuisance and should go back to wherever the hell it was he'd come from. They'd ignored him, no matter what he told them. Maybe they didn't know what they were protecting?

But now he knew he would have to take matters into his own hands. Ba'al was interested in his sister and so apparently was some other equally unhinged creep, and Dom couldn't sit around knowing that and do nothing. And now, balaclava-man had appeared in the scrub twenty metres away and although Dom didn't know much about guns, he had a pretty sure suspicion that the one in the guy's hand would be both very silent and very fatal.

There was only one place he could go to get help for Meaghan.

And there was only one place he could go to escape balaclava-man.

Faster than he'd ever run in his life, he headed for the fence and prayed to God that it wasn't electrified.

To his absolute delight, two minutes later he, and Terence, and the mangy yellow dog, had been arrested at military gun point and were being escorted briskly into the base. Never in his life had he imagined that he'd think that was something to be so pleased about.

* * *

**(Government Hospital, Sagara, Locrux)**

The first thing McKay realised was that every inch of his body ached. The second thing was surprise that it didn't hurt more. Still, he groaned aloud - and a pressure tightened on his left hand. Which made him realise the third thing, namely, that someone was holding it.

Why was someone holding his hand?

He cracked his eyes open and found himself bathed in a pool of brilliant, clear light. There was a large window, and the sun poured in it.

And lit up her hair like flames.

He blinked and thought groggily, _it's even prettier out around her shoulders than it was when she put it up at the dance. Someone should tell her that_.

And then he actually woke up properly.

It _was_ Monahan who was holding his hand, gripping it like she thought that he'd vanish into thin air if she let go. He opened his mouth to make a smart-aleck comment but at that moment his vision had adjusted enough against the sunlight for him to see her face clearly. She was smiling at him, oddly sad, not her usual manic grin at all.

It was her eyes though, that had shut him up, made his mouth bite back the words he'd been going to speak.

She was simply _looking_ at him.

They weren't her Ronon-watching eyes, weren't the eyes she'd turned on Mitchell so often in the last few days.

No. They were much deeper than that, like she was gazing right into him. For once, he couldn't think of anything to say.

She squeezed his hand gently. ‘Hey, you. How're you feeling?'

‘Awful,' he answered truthfully enough. He was still staring at her though, and she glanced away for a second under the pressure of his scrutiny, then back at him, her dark eyes a little hooded, and said, ‘Thought you weren't coming back there for a while. When the medics turned up, they said you were hurt worse than you looked. Cracked ribs, internal bleeding...'

Which explained why he felt like crap.

‘And you?' he asked.

She shrugged, ‘Some bruises, a couple of mighty nasty cuts. But they've got such clever medicine here on Locrux - the Chancellor Creepy really wasn't exaggerating. You heal fast and apparently aren't even left with the scars to show for it. So don't even start planning the dramatic war stories, because you'll have nothing to back them up.'

He could see she was trying to make him smile, but that her heart wasn't it. ‘Something's the matter,' he said. It was a statement, not a question.

She nodded and her eyes grew almost black. ‘They said I wasn't to tell you until you were better, but Rodney - I know how close you three are - were - and I can't _not _tell you...'

He shut his eyes for a moment, ‘Radek and Carson?'

‘Radek's still in a coma. But Carson - oh, Rodney, I'm so sorry.'

For a second he just lay there with his eyes squeezed shut. Then he managed to say, ‘I - I think I'd like to be alone for a moment or two.'

She nodded, released his hand gently from her grasp. She'd expected that, know that it was what she would have wanted if she'd just lost one of her closest friends. She brushed her hand softly against his arm and said, ‘I'll go get some fresh air.' She paused at the door for a heartbeat, storing in her memory the sight of him struggling to keep back the tears, and then left him to his grief in private, shutting the door with a soft 'click' behind her as she entered the hall.

An hour later, she still hadn't returned.


	9. A Day In The Life (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the non-Australians and non-conspiracy buffs out there, Harold Holt was an Australian Prime Minister (1966-1967) whose term ended suddenly when he went swimming one day and simply never returned. Was he kidnapped by a Russian submarine? Was he abducted by aliens? Or did he just plain old get a cramp and drown? Mysterious...! Anyway, he's our input to the world of the paranoid...!

In the more-than-a-decade that Sergeant Walter Harriman had worked in the Control Room of the SGC, he had experienced some rather strange days on the job. However, while this particular day wasn't likely to involve inter-dimensional insects, or unexplained alien diseases, or even the customary saving-the-world-yet-again scenario, he was still getting that familiar sinking feeling that it was nevertheless going to rank up there on the weird list.

The feeling had started when he'd ducked out of the Control Room for five minutes - leaving another technician in charge, of course (he would _never _have dreamt of leaving his post _unattended!_) - to grab himself a cup of coffee and a biscuit or two for 'morning tea'. Technically, it was already evening, but since he was on graveyard shift and had only woken up a few hours earlier, it didn't feel like it. As it was, time was always arbitrary in the SGC, with teams coming and going at all hours of the day and night - and mostly arriving from planets which, oddly enough, didn't tend to be on Mountain Standard Time.

And so there he was, returning quickly from the mess-hall with an earnest expression on his face, the hope that nothing untoward had happened in his absence locked deep in his heart, and a coffee mug wrapped in his hand (he'd put the biscuits in his pocket to leave a hand free for opening doors) - when he heard the most terrible cacophony of shouting and _barking _bouncing down the hall in his direction. It was the barking that had made him pause, mildly curious (after all, shouting was commonplace), while he stepped with the practice of an old-hand towards the edge of the corridor so as not to get in the way. Sure enough, seconds later, a handful of marines appeared in view around the corner, and since they didn't seem to be looking where they were going he was pretty sure that if he _hadn't _moved to the edge, he would have had his coffee spilt on his nice clean shirt. As it was, he just looked at them as they came to a halt next to him - the young redheaded man (who seemed to be doing most of the shouting) was proving difficult to keep a grasp on - and then gasped in horror as the yellow dog who had been prancing around their legs and barking frantically, suddenly ran over to where Walter stood and - in the way that old dogs do regardless of gender - actually cocked her leg against the wall about an inch from his trouser leg. Little droplets landed on his smartly polished shoe.

The old man - who wasn't yelling as loudly but who stank like a frozen dinner that had been left out in the sun and created its own biosphere - paused in his rant about aliens, Roswell, and Kennedy - and said with an apologetic grin, 'Have to excuse her, son, she's a bit wound-up.' His breath positively raked over Walter's coffee mug.

Finally the marines got the redhead back under control and the odd assortment of people, plus dog, continued on down the hall until the conspiracy mantra and the demands to 'see someone called Doctor Weir' faded away around a corner. Walter stared after them slightly bemused, then looked at his shoe with a resigned sigh, and hurried to the nearest restroom to give it a quick clean.

He'd rather gone off his coffee.

* * *

Domenic sat in the cell and wished fervently that they'd given the old feller a hose-down before they'd locked them together into the enclosed space. Admittedly, it _was_ a large cell, with bars opening up onto a still larger room, but there was nevertheless an alarming lack of fresh air. The odour of stale beer, stale BO and stale dog were making him feel a little ill. He'd rather imagined that they would put the dog elsewhere, but since she'd jumped arthritically onto the bed and fallen instantly asleep the moment they'd been shoved inside, he supposed that the military types figured leaving her there would be the simplest option. He wondered vaguely what rights the Geneva Convention had granted dogs...

Terence seemed to be finding their predicament alarmingly fascinating. Apparently, he informed Dom gleefully, he'd been trying to get into the base for years. The young man wasn't as impressed. Sure, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, and admittedly he still couldn't think of what else he could have done to get out of Ba'al's reach, but - he had never been all that fond of how life looked from behind bars.

'You know, son, all manner of odd goings on happen in this mountain. Little grey men, I tell you. And experiments on humans to see how they react to alien technology.'

Dom went over to the bars, 'Sure,' he answered absently, 'And they've got Elvis and Marilyn locked up here too, right?'

The old man chuckled sagely, 'I see you've been well-informed.'

Dom shrugged, 'Harold Holt told me.' And then he took a deep breath and started yelling again: 'I NEED TO SEE DOCTOR WEIR! OR THE GENERAL! OR _ANYBODY_!'

Behind him, Terence petted his dog and looked thoughtful.

* * *

Walter's suspicion that it was going to be on of _those _days had deepened slightly when he had returned to the Control Room (finding, to his disgust, that the tech he'd left in charge was actually reading a newspaper rather than keeping a careful watch things!) and a little under fifteen minutes later, the gate had started to dial.

'Unscheduled offworld activation!' he'd exclaimed dutifully, and then opened the iris when he'd received Doctor Elizabeth Weir's remote IDC. It had been unusual, he'd mused, that _she _would be dialling rather than say Colonel Mitchell or Doctor Jackson, but then, not completely unheard of.

Unheard of _was _however, when she came hurtling through the gate as thought she'd been shoved forcefully through the event horizon, actually rolling a short distance down the metal ramp before jumping to her feet and yelling loudly at the shimmering blue disc as though she thought that whoever was at the other end of the wormhole could actually hear her.

But Walter's suspicion had hardened into absolute certainty when, a fraction of a minute after Doctor Weir's wormhole had disengaged, a new one had started dialling ('Unscheduled radio contact with Atlantis, General Landry, sir,') and Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard's voice crashed through the galaxies separating them. He had demanded to speak to Doctor Weir if she were there, or General Landry if she weren't, because apparently one of his lieutenants (his lieutenants!) had been participating in some esoteric Athosian ritual and had been struck by the sudden conviction that something was terribly wrong. The fact that, when a still-reeling Doctor Weir was duly brought to the radio (_after_ a few minutes of General Landry expression his opinion in no uncertain terms about Sheppard's sanity), it was revealed that something _was _indeed terribly wrong, just like the ritual-induced Cadman woman had thought, didn't surprise Walter in the least. His capacity for accepting the absurd, the surreal, and the theoretically impossible was by now preternaturally well-developed.

But yes, it was going to be a long shift.

* * *

Elizabeth Weir stormed into General Landry's office without knocking, flinging the file about Meaghan's brother onto the middle of his desk, and demanded in a hard voice, 'When was I going to be informed?'

She'd been in an uncharacteristically _lasting_ foul mood since that swine of a misbegotten Chancellor had had her man-handled through the gate like one of his servants, and she had quite clearly forgotten her resolution to behave herself while she remained on Earth.

Now Landry glanced at her unperturbed, made a concluding comment into the telephone he'd been talking on, and then rested it back into its bright red cradle, before remarking, 'That was the President, if you're curious. He is most upset about how things appear to be unravelling on Locrux. He's fascinated by the whole medical research concept - would rather like to go down in the records with the cure for cancer discovered during his term in office, I would imagine - you know how it is. To say that he's crabby is putting it mildly.'

She pointed a finger at the file.

He sighed, accepted that she wasn't going to let herself be distracted, and flicked it open, glancing at the photo and the quick-to-the-point comments, and said, 'With all due respect, Doctor Weir, this has nothing to do with you. And I don't even _want _to know how you got your hands on it, either.' He had a suspicion that the culprit would be his daughter. Only a short while ago Carolyn had stood before him, having completed her medical reports on the two men the marines had brought in, and expressed her firm opinion that Doctor Weir should be advised. He'd disagreed, and anyway, at that time the good Doctor had still been offworld. Clearly, his daughter had wasted no time following her own gut instinct the moment the opportunity had presented itself. He almost smiled.

On the other side of his desk, Elizabeth stood ram-rod straight. 'I disagree, General. This matter has _everything_ to do with me. This man is the brother of one of my people. That makes him my responsibility.'

'Elizabeth...'

She shook her head, 'Don't _Elizabeth _me, Hank. You know as well as I do that if even _half _the information in that file checks out, then the problems on Locrux are much worse than we thought. If Ba'al is somehow involved...'

'We don't _know _that for a fact. And I don't see as how there can be anything that special about this girl, no disrespect intended. It all sounds a little too-farfetched to me, more like the bad plot tossed off by some insomniac wannabe novelist than anything else, even granted the bizarre things I've seen since I got here.'

She placed her hands flat on his desk, and looked him intently in the eyes. 'Even if that were the case, he obviously knows too much to be simply let go. He could just be credible enough, educated enough, for someone out there to take him seriously.'

'I know.'

She arched an eyebrow, 'And so what were you planning on doing with him, if you don't mind me asking?'

He just looked at her.

She forced her face to soften a little, the fine skin to relax against the bones, 'At least let me talk to him.'

He looked at the file open in front of him, and ran a thumb down the printed words. 'If you're worried that your woman might have blabbed, the computer nerds assure me that his hacking story checks out. And he knows things from personnel files that _she_ couldn't.'

'So you believe that, but not the rest of it?'

He looked pained. 'Elizabeth - the man was trying to scale the fence into our military complex with an old drunk and a mangy dog at his heels, babbling about an intergalactic conspiracy against his sister that would do Luke Skywalker proud, and claiming that he was being personally hunted down by one of Ba'al's henchmen.'

'And none of that bothers you?'

'Of course it bothers me. That's why he's here instead of in the hands of the local authorities.'

'Then let me talk to him,' she repeated. She needed to be feeling that she were doing something. If she'd been in Atlantis, she would have sunk herself into the white nothingness of paperwork, but here she didn't even have that option. Nor could she return to Locrux and search for answers into the death - such a _meaningless _death - of Carson Beckett. And the sound of John's voice on the radio telling her that Lieutenant Cadman had had a premonition that something was wrong had almost broken her heard, despite the fact that she didn't even _believe _in premonitions, because she'd known that the lieutenant and the doctor had been romantically involved for quite some time. She could imagine all too well what it would do to her to lose John - as it was she died a little inside every time she saw him go offworld. And so - she simply _had _to be doing something. She looked at Landry and added quietly, 'Please, General.'

He sighed. 'Fine. Go ahead, knock yourself out. He should be over the moon to see you, because apparently he hasn't stopped demanding your presence since he was brought in - in between claiming his rights as an Australian citizen and babbling about Ba'al, of course. I, meanwhile, have to try and work out what's to be done with him. He's obviously determined to make a nuisance of himself.'

* * *

Dom sat stiffly in a chair with a desk before him, and felt rather like he was back with Ba'al - though minus the beatings and with the addition of a glass of blue jelly. He wasn't entirely sure what the significance of the jelly was, and it sat mostly untouched in front of him, looking completely and utterly out of place given the circumstances.

It wasn't that he hadn't been treated well. A very pretty doctor had patched him up and cleaned his wounds, titching over the lost tooth, and actually listened to his story with a believing looking on her face, which was more than anyone else so far had done. She'd made her final stitch in the gash on his cheek, and explained in a dry voice that the General could be difficult at times, but that she thought she knew which strings to pull - and would see what she could do about getting him a fair hearing. She'd added that it was nice to see someone willing to put so much on the line for family, which was more than she could say for some people...

And so now he just sat, prodded the jelly occasionally, and waited.

Elizabeth watched him from the other side of the one-way glass. It was uncanny how much he looked like a male version of Meaghan. She knew that they weren't identical twins - well, that was obvious, given the gender difference - but they were about as similar as a brother and a sister could be. His hair was long and red (though perhaps less unkempt than his sister's), his beard short and sparse, and his face freckled. But he'd been badly beaten. It was strange; Elizabeth had grown used to seeing wounded people - arrows, bullets, burns, even wraith-induced premature aging had all become disturbingly commonplace - but she wasn't accustomed to seeing people who had simply been bludgeoned by someone else's knuckles. He winced slightly when he moved, and his dark eyes were ringed with green-and-plum-coloured shadows. He'd been given air force kit to replace his own bloody, dirty clothes, and beneath the short sleeve of the t-shirt she could see his sister's name spelt out in spidery letters. No, there was no doubting whose brother he was.

Not that it hadn't been cross-checked. From multiple sources.

'You don't have to get up,' she said as he struggled to his feet when she entered the room (and revealing that in height, at least, he differed from Meaghan). He half-smiled, sank back into the chair, and said, 'Doctor Elizabeth Virginia Weir, right?'

She sat opposite him, placed a pile of paper between them, and raised her eyebrows, 'Yes, I heard you'd been doing some light reading amongst our personnel files. I'm going to have to ask you to keep that information to yourself - _particularly _my god-awful middle name - if you come to work for me in Atlantis, Doctor Monahan.'

He blinked in confusion, scratched his beard, 'I - _what?_'

Clearly, he'd been expecting more interrogations. Not a job offer.

She pushed the papers, and a blue pen, towards him across the desk. 'I'll be frank with you, Doctor Monahan. I do _not _make a habit of being unquestioningly trusting of men who attempt to break into military facilities. I also know that just because you happen to share a large proportion of Meaghan's genes does not mean that you are anything like her. However, from the information that the Powers That Be have gathered on you, it appears that the similarity is striking. And if there is one characteristic that your sister possesses to a fault - and I do mean quite literally, to a _fault _\- then it is her integrity.'

He kept on staring at her for a heartbeat or two, as best he could through his still-swollen eyes, and then leafed through the wad of documents. A non-disclosure agreement, a form releasing them from fault in the case of unexplainable death - and a job contract. 'You seriously want me to work for you? Just like that? In some - some other galaxy?'

She met his eyes piercingly. 'To be completely honest? Not particularly. One Doctor Monahan causes a sufficient amount of trouble all on her own, and I shudder to imagine what a pair of you could achieve as a united force. But - for the moment - I can't think of another way to get you out of your cell, and right now, Doctor, I _need _you out of your cell. I happen to believe that there might be some truth to your story about Ba'al, and if there is, even just the smallest inkling, then -' She paused, and thought, _then I have already lost one good man and I refuse to lose more. _

He had lowered his eyes, a finger tracing across the fine print of the documents. 'This doesn't mean I work for the US military, does it?'

She almost smiled. Oh, yes, Meaghan's brother alright. 'Doctor Monahan. I thought you believed your sister was in danger. Do you really think this is the time to be having political scruples?'

He paused, chewed the end of the pen thoughtfully, and then rapidly signed and dated all the documents in the appropriate places and pushed them back across the table to her. She smiled, gathered them up, and said, 'Just so you know - I'm putting my trust in your hands. That only happens once, and the offer won't be repeated.' Her voice was surprisingly hard, and he nodded, silently, and wondered that had hurt her.

Then she went to the door and said to the guard firmly, 'Please inform General Landry that I expect the charges against my team-member to be dropped, and that we would both like to speak to him at the next available moment.'

* * *

Teal'c rapped lightly on Landry's office door. The General looked tired - he had just gotten off the radio to a very timorous guard - and Teal'c decided it would be best to be succinct. 'All done, General,' he said.

Landry smiled, 'You got the old codger bathed, fed, and on a bus to his daughter's in Denver?'

'Indeed, General. And I also gave him a guided tour of the harmless parts of the base as you instructed, to prove that we have no aliens hiding in the cupboards, as you put it.'

'Too true.' Landry was a good man at heart, but he did like his little jokes. The thought of the old conspiracy buff - who unlike the Monahan man was obviously no risk at all - being given a tour by Teal'c, of all people, amused him no end. 'Good work, Teal'c. I'm sure it made his day.'

'He did seem in a particularly good mood when he said goodbye to Doctor Monahan, General. I noticed that myself.'

Of course he was. It was probably more attention than he'd been given in years.


	10. A Day In The Life (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Slack in my research today, I don't know if you can actually take dogs on buses in the USA. Apologies to anyone who does know, if I'm committing a crass error here. Let's just say that Landry has friends in the transport industry, or something.
> 
> Oh, and Lowell's Italian?
> 
> Dio mio: my God.  
> Bello, davvero bello: beautiful, truly beautiful.  
> Fanciullo: (roughly equals) little boy-child.  
> Maledetti: (literally means 'cursed', but roughly equals) mongrels, though a little stronger.

'Unscheduled offworld activation!' shouted Walter for the third time so far in that shift, then rapidly opened the iris when he received Doctor Jackson's remote IDC.

Despite being them locked in Landry's office, Walter could clearly make out the voices of Doctor Weir and the General shouting loudly in the background. Still, at least the redheaded young man, whose name apparently was Domenic (and who had been let out of his cell and for some obscure reason left to amuse himself in the Control Room), had finally shut up. Now he was staring in bruised fascination as the gate's contents burst blue and splendid into the room below.

'Wo,' he said, but before Walter could reply, the frenetic sound of gunfire rattled through the gate, bullets ricocheting off the walls as Doctor Jackson and a petrified looking Doctor Lee came pelting down the ramp, Jackson shouting, 'Shut it, shut it!' and then waving gratefully as Walter rapidly obeyed his orders and the iris whirred closed behind them. Dom's eyes had widened even further at the sight, and he glanced at Walter, and the nearby dozing gate technician, as though expecting them to look surprised at what had just happened.

Walter shrugged slightly.

Dom glanced back down at Doctor Jackson, who was holding his hand against a patch of spreading blood on the left sleeve of his jacket, then glanced back at Walter, and observed in astonishment the calm way that he picked up a telephone and requested the presence of medics in the gateroom. 'What kind of hell lives do you people lead?!' he demanded, utterly flabbergasted.

Walter ignored him. He was watching Doctor Lee, who had collapsed panting on the edge of the ramp, and was muttering crazily to himself like some kind of overgrown Sméagol. The thought amused Walter immensely, though his face didn't show it. He really loved those films and he had all the tiny Games Workshop figurines, each delicately painting after painstaking hours with lamp, and magnifying lens, and tiny brush. Every single miniscule scale put individually on the armour... And he knew great slabs of the best bits of the films off by heart, could quote them effortlessly. _'I am no man! cries Éowyn...' _He paused, and realised suddenly that he might just _possibly_ have said that out loud, because the sleeping tech jerked awake so suddenly that his newspaper slipped the floor with a slapping sound, and Dom was looking at him with an inscrutable expression.

'Lord of the Rings,' Walter muttered, embarrassed, but to his surprise the young guy answered in his broad accent, 'I _thought_ so. I always liked that bit, though Megs was more interested in still blubbing about the singing Pippin from twenty-odd scenes earlier... You know Éowyn, I mean, Miranda Otto, is Australian too, right?' he added, as though that somehow made all the difference.

Walter positively beamed. One of the downsides of working in the SGC was that you tended to be surrounded by people with either no imagination at all (though he supposed that would be the case wherever you worked), or people with a sci-fi obsession leaning towards the Star Trek angle. Not that there weren't cultish movie buffs, sure, though- But before he could say anything else, the young guy pointed down into the gateroom and asked, 'That bloke who's been shot, that's Doctor Daniel Jackson, right?'

Walter nodded, mildly surprised (he didn't know about Domenic's 'light reading' on the net and the photographic memory with which he had recorded it all), and said, 'Yes. He was leading the archaeological expedition on Locrux. Obviously things aren't going so well.'

Dom stared at him. 'Locrux... where Doctor Weir was - where my sister is.' And he ran out of the Cotnrol Room and headed at top speed towards Landry's office and the sound of Weir's raised voice.

Walter sighed, then picked up the phone to let the General know that Daniel Jackson had just arrived under less-than-auspicious circumstances.

* * *

An incalculable quantity of kilometres away in the Pegasus Galaxy - so much so that the mere _use_ of kilometres to try and measure it would have sneered at by her if she were to hear you say it - an American scientist in her fifties, with an inexplicable predilection for muttering in Italian, a large paunch, and a degree that nobody beneath her employment was entirely sure of the nature of (physics? chemistry? the history of modern art?) lit herself a cigarette. She was scrolling through a database in the so-called Ancient Area 51 they'd found a few months earlier, with a profoundly bored expression on her face. _Dio mio_, but it was a dull job. You would think that working in another galaxy would have been interesting, but...

She paused, took a long drag on her illicit cigarette, and then scrolled backwards a little way. Suddenly she smiled happily, breathed out a lungful of blue smoke (which would have sent Doctor Weir into an apoplectic fit if she knew about it), and thought, _bello, davvero bello..._ She hauled herself to her feet, stubbed the cigarette out against the edge of the desk, dropped it into a drawer for her later completion, and then tapped her radio slightly, saying, 'Colonel Sheppard, I think I've found something to make your heart smile.'

The radio clicked in response, 'I'm kind of preoccupied right now, Lowell. All hell's broken loose on the other side of the universe.'

She smiled broadly at the database screen, 'Heard about that. Well, before you go gallivanting off to do whatever it is you're planning on doing, _fanciullo_, you really want to see these sweethearts. If you can get them to work, they'll make the devil himself quake...'

* * *

Despite having left the Control Room the moment he'd realised who Daniel Jackson was, Domenic still didn't reach the Briefing Room until _after _the archaeologist - who in the meantime had had a bullet removed and his arm bandaged. Dom hadn't realised quite how large the complex was, the office wasn't as close as it had sounded, and he'd made some disastrous navigational choices, discovering that all the pretty coloured lines on the floor didn't help in the least if you didn't know where they all led. Still, he'd finally found it, and Landry had received him with a worn-out expression on his face, saying, 'Come in, since apparently we employ you now. _Not -_' he added with a glance at Elizabeth, 'that I'm convinced that was a binding contract or, for that matter, a valid reason to let you wander around my base.'

Dom managed to bite back a retort, and then sat on the edge of his chair for three minutes or so listening to them waffle about people and places that meant either very little or absolutely nothing to his ears. Until he could take it no longer, and burst out, a finger pointed at Doctor Jackson, 'You were on this planet where my sister is, right?'

Daniel shot Elizabeth and Landry a bemused look. Landry shrugged, 'Meet Doctor Domenic Monahan, Meaghan's brother.'

Recognition dawned on the archaeologist's face, and Daniel - which seemed inordinately incongruous to Dom given the circumstances - leant across the table and shook his hand, saying, 'I _thought_ you looked awfully familiar. Your sister's a nice kid. A little unhinged, perhaps, but nice. Pleased to meet you, anyway. I'm Daniel.'

'I know,' replied the biologist impatiently.

'You do?'

Weir got the same kind of weary-expression that Landry already bore, and said, 'He's read your file, Doctor Jackson. Just about everyone's files, actually. And he was _supposed _to keep that to himself.'

Daniel looked astonished, 'Hey,_ I_ haven't even read my own file!'

Dom stared at them all. How on Earth could they be sitting around making small-talk? He shot Weir an angry glance, '_I'm _not the one who told him.' The he turned back to Daniel, 'I saw you come through the gate-thingamabob with bullets flying around you like B-grade spy flick. Wanna tell me how come, if the locals hate you so much, you figured it was a good idea to leave Meaghan there?'

The archaeologist looked uncomfortable, 'Well... because we don't know where she is.'

Dom felt the world slow down around him. '_You don't know where she is?_ You've gone and lost Meaghan, on some alien planet? How the hell did you pull that off?!'

Apparently Daniel was used to being yelled at, because he just answered quietly, 'I think you should hear the story that I was about to tell the General and Doctor Weir.'

Despite his own inclinations - which mostly involved a lot of shouting and some possible grievous bodily harm - Dom bit his lip and nodded. Daniel smiled apologetically, took off his glasses and placed them carefully on the table in front of him, then rubbed his eyes. 'After the dig was bombed yesterday morning -'

Dom held up a hand, 'Somebody bombed your _dig_? You people seriously need a new PR manager!'

Daniel scratched his nose and said, 'I'm going to have to ask you to shut up till I'm finished.'

'Oh. Right.'

He put his glasses back on. 'After the dig was bombed, and Carson's death, the Chancellor began to get agitated, as I'm sure Doctor Weir has already told you. To say I was astonished when he had her thrown of the planet is putting it mildly. After that, I suggested that - given the circumstances and the politics of the situation - it would be better if we quit the excavation. The Chancellor disagreed. He informed me in no uncertain terms that as soon as my people were well again they would return to work. He explained that the bombing did _not_ affect his determination to have whatever the Ancient complex might contain. He said that even as we spoke, he had labourers digging out the tunnel way. When I continued to express my belief that we had done enough - after all, we'd disabled the panels, and the complex could now be accessed by his own people - he grew angry and began to make wild claims that perhaps it hadn't been Legate Rushman or the naturalists who'd bombed us at all... He _actually_ implied that we'd blown ourselves up, claiming that we had already found some great technology and were using the bombing as a way to break the treaty and return home with it.'

'That's preposterous! We didn't even get inside!' Elizabeth exclaimed.

Daniel shook his head, 'I know. But he was impossible to reason with. I did my best to assure him of our good intentions, left, and radioed Mitchell. He said that Zelenka was still in a coma and couldn't be moved, but that he could already walk again and -'

'He had broken _bones_,' she began, then paused, 'Ah. I see that Argennos wasn't exaggerating about their medical advances, at any rate.'

'No, apparently not. At any rate, Mitchell was in McKay's ward when I spoke to him, and he said they were concerned that Doctor Monahan had gone out for air some few hours earlier and not returned... That was when Argennos appeared, accused me of conspiring with Rushman, and Lee and I found ourselves needing to beat a hasty retreat to the gate. I'd say it's guarded now, which would explain why the others haven't joined us. And because of Zelenka, of course.' He glanced at Dom. 'That's all I know, I'm sorry. But Mitchell's a capable guy, and I know both him and McKay have a soft spot for your sister, so.. I'm sure they'll find her.'

Dom grunted. 'Capable' wasn't the first word he connected with the Colonel, and the thought of him harbouring any kind of 'soft spot' for his sister rankled a little. But then, suddenly, his blood ran cold. 'You never lost her...' he murmured, horrified.

They all looked at him, confused.

'Oh, for the love of all that's good and holy! You never _lost_ her, you idiots! You let her get _taken_, taken by whatever - whoever - I - Oh, God, it's like Ba'al said, that someone on that planet wants her, that they had a deal, that they wanted Meaghan -- and you, you let her wander off and now they've got her!'

'I - what - _Ba'al?_' stammered Daniel, completely at a loss.

Elizabeth cleared her throat delicately. 'And this, gentlemen, is why I wanted Doctor Monahan present. I think you'll find he has some intel that could prove very eye-opening.'

* * *

It wasn't often that his job managed to get the better of him. But when Walter found himself called out 'unscheduled offworld activation' for the _forth _time that shift, he felt slightly depressed. He already had a pile of official paperwork the size of Mount Doom itself waiting for him, just because everyone kept insisting on dropping in unannounced. And the fact that he recognised this IDC as being from the Pegasus Galaxy didn't bode well. He new full well that they weren't due to visit any time soon. Still, he sighed, opened the iris and watched, a little dumbfounded, as a great troupe of people stomped through. Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, his own SG team, a handful of other people in BDUs, one very, _very _fat woman with an unlit cigarette dangling off her bottom lip - and following them, a trundling trailer-transporter laden down with large wooden crates that had the words FRAGILE, DANGEROUS, and HANDS OFF, _MALEDETTI_ stencilled in black spray-paint on the sides.

They all had expressions, especially Sheppard, that just seemed to be itching for an confrontation.

Walter sighed, and picked up the telephone.

It was on very rare occasions, like this one, that he asked himself what it was he loved about his job.

It certainly wasn't the Zen-like atmosphere.

* * *

About one hundred and two kilometres away from Walter and his worries, an old man and an arthritic dog climbed out of a bus at the main terminal in Denver. They watched silently until the bus had passed from sight, then the man straightened his shoulders, patted the old dog on the head, and moved with an unexpected and previously _not_-present grace towards the nearest phone box. It wasn't how he normally did things, of course, but his pockets had nothing in them except the kind of rubbish that an old bum would carry, and none of _that _was even vaguely useful.

He held the handset as though unhappy to be seen using such a thing in public, and then waited for the number (which most certainly _wasn't _listed in any phonebook known to man) to dial. Finally, it rang through - and a few seconds later, if somebody had been watching, they would have seen a shimmer of light and then - nothing.

The yellow dog glanced at the handset where it hung dangling on its metal cord in the otherwise empty phone-box, sniffed curiously to see where her new friend had gone, and then shrugged indifferently in the way that old dogs do. She was pretty sure that sooner or later someone new would turn up to take an interest in her. After all, they always had in the past. Still, he'd been good for food while it had lasted.

Wagging her tail contentedly, she ambled off to find a nice sunny spot to rest her aching bones.


	11. Everybody's Got Something To Hide...

_ **(Sagara, Locrux.)** _

Her eyes flickered open. First one, ever so slowly, and then the other.

The world was made of nothing but white light, light so white that it was almost blue.

An edge of panic set in amongst her entrails - she couldn't see clearly, why couldn't she see clearly?

Then a familiar voice - 'Don't be scared, Meaghan, love. I know it's nigh impossible, but try not to be scared.'

_Carson! _Oh God, Carson! Carson and so she must be dead! Oh God that explained the blinding light, the blue, but - why couldn't she remember dying?

A fingertip touched her bare shoulder weakly. 'Meaghan.'

She turned her head towards the voice. The film started to clear from her eyes.

Oh God, it _was_ Carson.

He smiled at her wanly, such a pale slip of a smile, and she almost smiled back, just out of sheer habit. But then she looked beyond his face, looked beyond and saw his body. Saw his poor, mangled body -

The sound of her own voice sliced through the light.

And then thankfully, mercifully, the world vanished back into nothing but hot white light, and unconsciousness swallowed her whole.

* * *

_ **(Earth.)** _

In a cloaked ship that hung concealed and motionless just beyond Earth's detection, an old homeless man (who in reality was nothing _like _an old homeless man) stood with his head bowed respectfully. His lord and master leant towards him from the throne in which he lounged, and said, 'I presume, from the fact that you stand before me Ta'ro, that your mission was a success?'

The old man nodded, 'Most successful, my lord. I managed to plant the device on the boy after he had been examined by them. It went exactly as my lord had foretold - they weighed up the valuable information he possessed against the risk he posed, and have seen fit to take a chance with him.'

Ba'al smiled. 'Ridiculous, trusting foots. How little they question the duplicity of others, even after all these years. You have done well, Ta'ro.'

The old man raised his head a little, and asked, 'If I may be so bold, my lord, how did you know he would go to Stargate Command?'

Ba'al rolled his eyes and relaxed back in his chair. 'Nothing more than simple observation, Ta'ro. Your kind is ultimately so very predictable. It was obvious that he would head to the one place where he thought he could help his sister. And I don't doubt that through his actions he will continue to play right into my hands... I expect great things.'

'Then she has already been obtained for the experiment, my Lord?'

'So it would seem. And if I am reading correctly through the lines of my dear, devious friend's latest message to me, then he is playing down her exquisite worth. But no matter, I will let him fulfil his end of the bargain, and then afterI have my merchandise, I'll make my move. As for the Ancient laboratory... it was about time one was revealed in this galaxy...'

Ta'ro lowered his eyes again. 'My lord is very wise.'

Ba'al smirked, 'Yes, yes... now off you trot.'

The old man left the room happily.

* * *

_ **(Government Hospital, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

'For God's sake, McKay, keep your voice down!' It was _hours _since they had been left stranded on the planet, the stargate suddenly under heavy guard - and Cameron Mitchell was nervous. He glanced for the umpteenth time out of the ward that the three of them had been put in (a still unconscious Zelenka lay in a bed in the corner) and reached his fingers almost unconsciously towards his sidearm.

Rodney, on the other hand, had moved way beyond nervous. He was so wound up that his face had gone slightly red. Mitchell's abrupt command had rudely interrupted an earnest tirade against Sagara, the Chancellor, the military, archaeology, hospitals, explosions, internal bleeding, and life in general. For a second he _seriously _considered starting right back up where he'd left off - after all, what gave Mitchell the right to order him around? - but then shut his mouth into a firm line instead, and swung his legs with difficulty over the edge of the bed.

Mitchell glanced at him, '_Now _what are you doing?'

McKay's face had a stubborn set to it. 'Colonel,' he said in his _explaining-the-patently-obvious-to-an-idiot _voice, 'She's been gone for _hours. _Does that _seriously_ sound like someone who ducked out to get some fresh air to you?' He pulled the pile of his clothes from the small table beside his bed, thanked the universe at large they hadn't made him keep on that heinous hospital gown for longer than was necessary, and started pulling on his jumper and jacket.

The Colonel shook his head at him, 'McKay. Lay back down before you do yourself an injury. Even with the whizz-bang pills they've got to pop around here, you were much worse hurt than I was, and you're still in no condition to be rushing off and playing the hero. You'd only slow me down.'

Nothing Mitchell could have said would have convinced the scientist, who was muttering to himself about never having had _any _desire to be a hero in play or otherwise - but the fact that when he slipped gingerly from the bed, his legs collapsed beneath his weight, was somewhat more persuasive. Still, he only grudgingly let Mitchell help him back onto the bed. He honestly didn't know what the universe had against him. His whole life was one great big piece of cosmic black humour. First there was Carson, and now _her _\- and he was tucked up in bed like an invalid. The _one _time he actually _wanted _to be getting out there doing something...

And it _wasn't _that he wanted to be the big hero. Truly. He wasn't that stupid; he knew that heroism was for short-sighted fools without a proper understanding of just how _much _near-death experiences hurt. It was just - just that Mitchell didn't understand how she'd _looked _at him.

Not that he had the slightest desire to enlighten him on that point.

'Fine!' he snapped, 'So I'm stuck here like old man grandpa, and we haven't the foggiest idea what's going on. Just brilliant.'

Mitchell glanced at the door again, 'We know that Danny-boy did something to really get up the Chancellor's nose. And the fact that one of the nurses saw him and Lee running hell-for-leather through the Stargate with Sagaran guards shooting at them makes me think that good old tact and diplomacy probably aren't going to heal the rift. Actually, I'm dead surprised that_ we've _been left in peace for this long, and I'm thinking that it's time for me to vanish into the woodwork while the option's still there. I'm sorry, McKay, but you're just gunna have to sit this one out.' He dug around in his pockets for a moment and then said, 'Here.' He pressed one of the small, Locruxian translators-cum-communicators into the Canadian's hand, and then explained, 'Doctor Lee was playing around with a pair of them before you guys got here. That one, and the one I've got, are on their own special frequency. It means they won't work as translators, so if you happen to meet a local not wearing one, then you're screwed as far as small-talk goes. But if you need to reach me, then it should go undetected. _Not _that that means I've got the faintest desire to heard you whinging twenty-four/seven. This is an emergency-only number, you got that?'

McKay nodded curtly, offended by the obvious lack of faith in his own common sense, and then watched with sour mien as the military officer slipped out of the doorway and vanished from sight down the hall. He buried the translator grumpily, but carefully, into one of his own pockets, then lay back and stared angrily at the ceiling. If Mitchell thought he was just going to stay here quietly like a good little solider, then he had something else coming. It was simply that - well, he couldn't do _nothing. _

Oh _all right _then, already. So perhaps there was the smallest sliver of a desire to be a hero.

Maybe.

If he was luckily, it would just be one of those strange urges that would pass eventually - like needing to watch the whole original season of _Star Trek _in one sitting, or ordering pizza with nutella on it. Still...

He buried his head back in his pillow and tried to relax. A few more hours sleep and he'd be good to go. Just a few more hours.

* * *

_ **(Stargate Command, Earth.)** _

Calpurnia Teresa Trinity Lowell - who functioned on the general principle that if you knew her full name, she'd have to kill you - sat on a chair in the SGC with her sneakers resting heavily against the wooden crates that they had brought with them from Atlantis. Apparently DON'T TOUCH _MALEDETTI_ didn't apply to her, since she'd been the one to spray paint it on.

She was smoking like a steam engine, not in the least bit bothered by the pained looks that an anxious and balding little sergeant kept walking down the hall to give her, and likewise indifferent to the fact that there was a large NO SMOKING sign hanging directly above her head. She had come to the conclusion long ago that rules and regulations were made for people other than her, and she was furthermore inhabited by the serene certainty that her multiplicity of talents were much to valuable for them to ever actually make good their threats, and sack her. Besides, after over a decade of being _not_-sacked, she couldn't see why they would suddenly start now.

And as regarded the small issue of damaging other peoples' health by forcing them to inhale her smoke as it circulated in a dense blue cloud around her? Well, she figured that if it really bothered them, they'd move someplace else.

Actually, it rather amused her to think that she probably wasn't a very nice person, since she was, undeniably, a brilliant one. Even more so than that little bantam of a Canadian who strutted around the Pegasus Galaxy like he owned the place _and _had all the betting-rights. Still, she'd been working too long for the US Air Force not to have learnt how to deal with his type - an effective process that primarily involved ignoring him, and then generally letting him keep his precious delusions of grandeur. After all, _she _knew that she was the best, and what did she care what anyone else thought?

She breathed in deep on her cigarette, and then puffed the lungful out in little gasps.

Besides, when it came to weapons, _nobody _was more important than she was.

Hell, they'd even dragged her out of Atlantis and back into this rat's nest because of it.

* * *

General Landry glanced darkly at Colonel Sheppard - who wasn't exactly high on his Christmas card list at the moment - and then back through the slightly ajar door at the fat woman sprawled in the hall amidst wooden crates. 'You had better have a damned good reason for bringing that creature into my SGC,' he snapped, and then slammed the door so fast and so unexpectedly that John almost lost his nose.

'Well,' the Colonel drawled with the beginnings of a glint in his eye, 'As a matter of fact, I do. She happens to be the most qualified person we have when it comes to Ancient weapons - well, any weapons we've come across, actually, come to think of it. Especially with both McKay and Zelenka out of the loop. And I kinda thought that if we were planning on taking on Ba'al and this whacked politician, we could do with all the advantages we could get.'

He was sweet-talking, and they both knew it.

The General rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. 'Colonel, you didn't _know _about Ba'al, or the Chancellor, when you left the Pegasus Galaxy. Don't try and play coy with me. You came slamming across the universe because one of your friends is dead, and your people are MIA, and you want nice warm revenge.'

Sheppard rubbed the back of his neck, 'Well, _maybe_, maybe not. But I _do _know about them _now_ and then the previous statement still stands. Advantages are _good_. And if we can get these little chunkers operational...'

Landry held up a hand. 'Firstly, that's a big if, even granted the alleged magical skills of that monstrosity out there choking my halls with smoke. And secondly, I don't remember ever telling you you had a go for a mission on Locrux at all.'

'Sure I have a go. They've killed one of my men, shot up a couple of yours, and roughed up Doctor Weir. Of course I have a go. Why else come all this way with my pretty new toys?'

Landry put his hands on his hips, 'You've been told before, I take it, that you're an arrogant man without any understanding of the words 'chain of command'?'

Sheppard half-shrugged. 'Repeatedly. But I _am _going after my people.'

'Yes. You are. But you'll be doing it on my terms, is that clear? Any deviances and I swear to God I'll make you wish you'd never stepped food back into this Galaxy. There'll be a briefing at 08-hundred tomorrow morning, Colonel - I expect you here, punctually, and the same goes for all that rabble you brought with you. Now get out, before I change my mind!'

John didn't need telling twice. He had the door open, then shut behind him, before the General could even blink.

But in the hallway he paused, glanced curiously at the smoking woman, and asked in a smarmy voice, 'You get the part about that being bad for you, right?'

She gave him the finger.

He shrugged. 'Just thought I'd ask. And while I'm at it - what'd you do to get him so against you?'

She looked him up and down speculatively - to be honest, despite having arrived in Atlantis with the original expedition team, she'd only ever seen the CO from a very _distant _distance, and it had all been a bit hectic since they'd arrived on Earth - and queried laconically, 'Who, the General, _fanciullo_?'

'Yeah. He seems to rank having you up there with Chinese water torture, and finding out his daughter's got the hots for a wraith.'

She grinned with yellowed teeth, and chuckled, 'Sure he does. I dated him.'

'You - huh -?' John's eyes grew loud and he was seized by the sudden urge to clean his ears out.

Lowell blew a cloud of blue-tinged smoke in his face. 'You heard me. Years and years ago of course. High school sweethearts. Naturally I was a good deal younger than him, but he's never forgiven me for leaving him stranded at the eleventh hour before his prom.'

The Colonel was still gaping at her, but then she burst out into a dry guffaw, laughing till tears came to her eyes and she was hit by a fit of disgusting-sounding coughing, as all the gunk in her lungs moved to new positions. 'And if you believe that, _fanciullo_, you're even more naive than you look!'

She went back to laughing at his expense, the fat on her arms wobbling, and John decided suddenly that he definitely had other places to be.

Like with Elizabeth.

* * *

Elizabeth knew it was him even before he knocked on the door - knew it even before, almost, she'd heard the familiar rhythm of his boots striding so confidently down the hall. She'd been waiting for him to arrive ever since she'd retreated to the accommodation she'd been given, waiting for him while she sat unhappily on the edge of the bed, waiting because she'd seen the look in his eyes when she and Landry had gone to confront him in the gateroom. She recognised that look. That look foretold his desire to share her grief, a need to be close to her, and the familiar fear that they always felt whenever they were apart and bad things happened. Normally, it was Elizabeth who was the one to go to him. But not this time. This time she sat and waited and almost hoped he wouldn't come.

It had meant so much to hear his voice on the other end of the radio.

But to see him in the gateroom -

He rapped his knuckles against the door, then opened it and entered the room without waiting for a response. He clicked the door locked behind him, strode to her, pulled her to her feet, and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She hugged him back, but it was without her usual feeling.

She'd been thinking - thinking that if Carson's death had so shaken her, then John's would push her over the edge. And when _wasn't _he courting death? She'd thought, at the start, that being with her might change that - thought that it might give him something to live for, not just die for, as they say - but it hadn't. He couldn't help himself. It was like he was determined to go out in a blaze of glory, determined to die a martyr.

He kissed her on the forehead, then stepped back, hands gripping her shoulders, and studied her intently. 'You are a sight for sore eyes, Elizabeth Weir,' he murmured, squeezing her shoulders beneath his hands almost convulsively, as though they had been apart for months instead of just over a week. Just over a week - not even a fortnight. How could that be real? How could so little time have passed?

'John...' she began, and then stopped. She didn't even know what it was she wanted to say, let alone how to say it.

'It's okay,' he said, 'Lizbeth, it's okay. I'm not going to let any officious bureaucrats stone-wall me. I _will _go to this planet and get you your answers.'

She shook her head, 'You didn't come here because Carson's dead.'

He looked blank. 'Sure I did.'

'No.' She shrugged herself out of his hands, 'No, you didn't. You came here because you were angry at how I'd been treated by the Chancellor, angry that I was upset. You came because of me.'

He shifted uncomfortably, 'Well, what if I did?' He paused, 'Lizbeth, I love you - I want to protect you.'

'That's just it!' Suddenly her voice was firm and strong, 'You're _supposed _to be protecting Atlantis, not me! John - maybe we've made a terrible mistake. Maybe the Secretary of Defence, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the President - maybe they are all right, maybe it's true that by loving you I have put the entire expedition at risk! Because you're not thinking about looking after them, you're thinking about looking after me!'

He stared at her, said in a small, offended voice, 'I thought you'd be glad to see me.'

Her anger dissolved, 'Oh, John, I _am._ And that's what truly bothers me.'

* * *

_ **(Sagara, Locrux.)** _

Someone had been following Cameron Mitchell for at least half an hour. At first, he'd told himself that he was imagining it, told himself that it was a reaction to the fact that he was creeping around the dingy back alleys of a largely unfamiliar city on an alien world, with his nerves stretched taut. But now he was sure that it wasn't his overwrought brain playing tricks on him. It was the little things that made him certain. The way that a shadow curled around a corner when he glanced over his shoulder. The way that innocuous-but-wrong noises would sound when it was supposed to be silent. And the way that when he paused very still, he could _sense _the eyes on the nape of his neck. No, he was being followed, and there was no doubt about it.

He kept walking as though he hadn't noticed, kept on making his way from shadowed door to shadowed archway, but all the while his hand crept oh-so-slowly to the knife hanging at his hip. His pace slowed imperceivably, and then, when the next _wrong _noise came, he spun on it, leapt at it, had the skinny young man up against the wall and his bare blade against a pale throat. Soft hands scrabbled at him uselessly.

‘Who are you, and what do you want?' Mitchell hissed from between his teeth. He'd been having a bad day, and he simply didn't _like _people creeping up on him at the best of times.

In the wan light of a street lamp flickering on a nearby wall, he could see the whites of the young man's eyes as he struggled futilely against Mitchell's firm grasp. His hand pressed the knife blade just that little bit closet to the skin of the man's throat, and the eyes grew even wider - but the struggling stopped. The guy had a baby face and a head of dark curls.

‘Gregori,' he whispered breathlessly, ‘My name's Gregori. Please don't hurt me, I just want to talk to you.'

Mitchell's face was expressionless, but he did move the knife back a fraction of a hair's width so that the man-boy could breathe without his throat being slit. ‘Mighty odd way of showing someone you want to talk, if you ask me. You could get yourself hurt, creeping up on a guy like that.'

Gregori was still rolling his eyes to try and see the blade beneath his chin, and had pressed himself back as hard against the wall as he possibly could. His fear was obvious, but Mitchell pushed aside his automatic inclinations to be lenient, and demanded harshly, ‘So. What did you have in mind as a topic of conversation?'

‘I can help you, I want to help you. I know who you are, why you're here. I can take you to the people you need to see.' There was terror in the way his tongue darted out and licked his lips.

‘And why would you want to do a thing like that?'

‘Because of my wife. My wife, Eldra. She was killed in the blast. Please, I want to help you, because I want to avenge her death.'


	12. Because...

** _(Sagara, Locrux) _ **

When Meaghan's consciousness finally re-surfaced, she didn't _want_ to look. She didn't want to open her eyes and so kept their lids firmly shut.

She knew now that she wasn't dead.

Or that if she was dead, she'd been sent to hell. In which case, she would still rather not look.

But there were fingers upon her body. Cold, long fingers, and they made her flesh crawl as they moved across her skin. Until she couldn't _not _look. She opened her eyes.

And _he _smiled down at her.

‘You...' Her voice was hoarse, her whisper falling to pieces at the end of the word.

The Chancellor inclined his head politely. ‘What a strange thing. Do you know that is _exactly _what the good Doctor said when _he _woke? Do you believe it to be a coincidence, or are your thought patterns so alike? Is it genetic or social? Ah, the old nature or nurture chestnut...'

She felt the revulsion well up inside her like a black wave. She tried to jerk away but found she couldn't. She stared down at her body and realised that she was half naked, a slip of a skirt covering her hips, some sort of ivory-coloured hospital gown put on over that, but its cords left unbound, her torso bare. His fingers kneaded into the soft skin of her stomach like a doctor looking for unwanted lumps. She felt ill at the sight of him, the feel of him, and desperately tried to pull away, but her hands and legs were bound, manacled in restraints like some patient in a mental hospital in the 1890s, manacled like a picture she had seen once of a suffragette...

The thought made her even more sick, and she screamed at him in rage, not even entirely sure herself what she was saying, screamed at him until her throat hurt and she collapsed back against the chair that held her. She couldn't even remember how she'd gotten there. She'd been at the window across the hall from McKay's room and then - nothing.

The Chancellor just looked at her, mildly amused, like she were a bug that had suddenly started talking. And then a small murmur came from where she had seen Carson - _couldn't _have seen Carson - in her nightmare. She really didn't want to look a second time.

But she had to.

* * *

Mitchell loosened his grasp on the knife, and looked at Gregori searchingly. He could remember the Sagaran archaeologist woman. He remembered sitting and watching her talk excitedly with Meaghan, such a short while before the blast, patches of pink flushed high on her fine cheekbones. But he remembered seeing her later, after the blast, as well. ‘I'm sorry,' he said suddenly, pulled the knife away and let it hang at his side in his hand. He wasn't sure what those words really meant in the circumstances. He knew all too well what loss was like.

Gregori's hand shifted automatically to his throat, rubbing his Adam's apple as though checking it hadn't been slit and he just hadn't realised yet, and then fixed his eyes upon the knife in Mitchell's hand, obviously hoping that the Colonel would put it away. Mitchell didn't oblige him, but asked instead, ‘So. How can you help me?'

‘I have information. I know things. I know people who know things.'

‘How?'

He looked with scared eyes past Mitchell into the semi-darkness of the street beyond. ‘I - I'm a naturist. Eldra didn't know, she wouldn't have approved, wouldn't have understood. I - I hated myself every time she passed another one of our unborn children on to the servile classes and we had to start all over, go on as though nothing had happened. I - I started meeting people...'

Mitchell toyed with his knife thoughtfully. ‘Being a naturist should mean you're against me, against the dig. It might have been your little friends who threw the bomb.'

‘No - no, they wouldn't have. There's a pact, an accord, that says none of our own kin can be hurt. They knew Eldra was there. If it had been them, had been us, we would have waited till she was somewhere else.'

That sounded just insane enough to be plausible. Cameron put his head to one side, ‘What information can you give me then?'

‘Lots of things, so many things. Like the fact that it was Rushman's men who bombed you. Like the fact that it was deliberately done _after _you'd gotten the panels open, because he wants the complex, but for you to go home.'

Still, there was something nagging at the back of Mitchell's mind, and this thumb stroked the smooth metal side of the knife's blade slowly. And then, out of the blue, it came to him. He remembered the fragments of the conversation that he'd watched Meaghan and Eldra having. He raised the knife and pointed it at the boy like an accusing finger. ‘_You_ are supposed to be out of the country. If you _are _who you say you are.'

It was at that point that Gregori actually burst into tears - because of his wife, or the fact that the knife was directed back at him again, it was hard to say. ‘I know, I know - I told Eldra I was - but I wasn't - I was here all along, working for the naturist cause....'

And that, at least, was the truth. Mitchell could simply feel it in his bones, as his grandma would have said. He put the knife away, took Gregori by the arm and said, ‘Buck up, buddy. This is no place to be having a breakdown. Why don't you take me somewhere we can talk, eh?'

And with a loud snuffle, the young man obeyed.

* * *

This time, when Meaghan turned her head in his direction, she wasn't saved by the sweet embrace of unconsciousness. Instead she felt the bile rise in her throat, gagged on it, lashed her wrists against their bindings. But she couldn't look away, as though her subconscious mind were making her stare, punishing her for some long-forgotten sin.

Carson Beckett lay, like she did, on some kind of chair-cum-operating-table. He wasn't bound like she was, but then, it was painfully obvious that he was going anywhere any time soon. Still, his red-raw wrists showed that he had _been_ bound, at least for a while. But now-

Now he had been cut open.

Cut open and the skin peeled back and pinned out of the way like someone undergoing open surgery.

She'd never seen anything like it.

It didn't even matter that she'd worked in the morgue in Atlantis. Familiarity with unpleasant things didn't help her any. And those people were _dead. _But Carson - his head slowly to her, opened his eyes and look at her with them - so blue and full of pain. He wasn't just alive. He was _conscious. _

The Chancellor seemed amused by her struggle to keep her stomach contents, the way she gasped for air and held it, her nostrils flaring. He was actually smiling as he said, ‘I did tell you that our medicine is advanced. We are capable of so many wonders.' He ran a finger along the mark on her thigh, where the metal had buried into her during the explosion. It was already healed, and the scar almost gone, just a spider's trail of white. She flinched under his touch, but he ignored her reaction and continued smoothly, ‘I have been able to conduct a most thorough examination of our friend here, with the added bonus of keeping him awake to gain the full benefit of his medical expertise. Of course, it isn't as extensive as my own, but it never hurts to see things from the viewpoint of ones subjects.'

Subjects. Subjects, like they were some experiment - oh, God, perhaps they were...

She wanted to react in some way, swear at him, or spit in his face, or gouge his eyes out, but she couldn't. Even if her hands hadn't been bound, her body had frozen into stone at the sight of him investigating a pile of instruments that were all too familiar to her from her forensics temping. His long fingers turned them over thoughtfully, with the same grace that another man might play a harp, and then selected a scalpel, held it up to the white light and looked at the blade critically. Then he shook his head slightly, put it back, and continued his search.

Finally she found her voice, and managed to grate out between her teeth, ‘Why are you doing this?'

He paused, fingers hovering over the instruments, and replied, ‘You intrigue me, Doctor Monahan. I will admit that at first, I had no great plans for you Earth people, other than that you help me unlock the secrets of the rest of this great complex.' He waved a hand dramatically to take in their surroundings. 'Right now you are directly beneath the Government Building. Doctor Jackson was correct when he told you that the front door was here. I found it years ago, when I started working as a junior transcriber. Time must have damaged the security system at this end, because I was able to access a few rooms. But no further. Of course, I kept my discovery to myself. It was only when your people arrived that I understood _why _I was unable to delve deeper - because I lacked this ATA gene.'

'Lacked?' she murmured, having registered his use of the past tense even through her fear.

'Yes. Lacked. Thanks largely to the information supplied by Doctor Beckett, I have been able to supply myself with the gene much as you have done, say, in the case of Doctor McKay. Through my study - I have, of course, collected samples of the DNA of every member of your team - I have come to the conclusion that there _is _no difference between artificial and natural manifestations of the gene. It is all psychological - but then there is you.'

Her mind swum. He had samples of _everyone's_ DNA. Which was why he didn't need them any more... But he was still talking, and her ears listened with a kind of terrified compulsion as he continued, 'However, when I had the unexpected opportunity to choose who would be on the archaeological team, and I read your file... You know that they have been watching you, studying you, without telling you? That they have been just as curious as I am about the continuous increasing of your capacities? When I read your file, I knew that in your case, greater things could be achieved. And I wasn't the only one to recognise that. Even before you had set foot on this planet, there was a price put upon the possibilities that - if my proposed experiment is successful - you could bring to fruition. If my suspicions are correct, Doctor Monahan, you will be of great scientific and commercial value...'

And as though to punctuate that statement, he suddenly chose his scalpel and, without warning, placed a hand on her abdomen to hold the skin taut - and made the first cut.

* * *

Carson's mind was swamped with her screaming. The lab was small, and the agonising sounds seemed to slam into the walls and converge in on him all at once. He tried to clench his teeth and somehow ignore it, tried to think of something else. It was bloody hard. As a medical man, he could actually understand the burning need for knowledge that apparently consumed the Chancellor. But he could _not _comprehend the desire to leave someone conscious while pulling apart their viscera. It had _almost _made sense with him - the Chancellor had been demanding he talk. But with the girl... It was obscene.

When the pain got too much for her, and her screaming trailed off, Carson opened his eyes and looked in her direction, careful to search out her face - he had no desire to witness the butcheries of that monster on her body. Her eyes had rolled back into her head, and she had moved so far beyond pain that she had an almost beatific expression on her face, like a Dante Rossetti painting plunged into the world of Stephen King. It would have astounded him if he had had the energy left for any real emotion. He tried to draw strength from her expression, then shut his eyes again and tried to think of some way that they could survive this - whole and _sane_. Tried to think of how, when she came back to the present she found herself in, he could convince her to be brave - when he'd never been more bloody petrified in his entire life.

* * *

_ **(Stargate Command, Earth.)** _

At 08-hundred hours on the dot, Landry entered an unusually full briefing room. He was accustomed to seeing SG teams of four members there. Sometimes larger groups of ranking officers. And then there were days when his cheery little pals from the IOC would drop in for a chin-wag and clutter the place up with their secretaries and their paperwork. But it wasn't terribly often that the table was so _thoroughly _occupied - come to think of it, he was under the vague impression that somebody might have brought in extra chairs. Probably Walter.

For a moment the General just stood and looked at them all, his eyes moving clockwise around the table in an arc. Elizabeth Weir, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagen, Daniel Jackson, Teal'c, that odious Lowell female, and the five miscellaneous marines that Sheppard had brought with him as though there weren't already enough marines in the SGC.

Landry sighed, and sat down in the free space that had been left, and said, 'Well. Youall know why you're here, so we may as well get straight to the point. I agree with you all that our people on Locrux are most likely in an awkward situation at best, and in acute danger at the worst. I also agree that something needs to be done to rectify that. However, I am _not _going to give you permission to rush in guns blazing like cowboys in a spaghetti western. The fact is, regardless of how anyone at this table might view the situation, the President has ordered that we keep our hands, officially at least, clean. We are to salvage the treaty at all costs.'

'At all costs, sir?' repeated Sheppard quietly, 'What exactly is that supposed to mean?'

'It means exactly what it always means, Colonel. It means that the President has looked at the situation and judged that the potential medical benefits which could be gained through the archaeological treaty, easy access to an Ancient laboratory, and a general exchange of technology with the Locruxians outweigh anything else.' _Including the personal feelings of you all, _he continued in his head, though his face didn't show it. It was hard for them to swallow. Ronon Dex had actually started to growl softly.

'And to think, I _voted _for that bastard,' muttered Sheppard in poorly controlled anger. Landry didn't reprimand him - but nor did it escape the General's notice that Weir looked at Sheppard, half moved her hand towards him in the space between their chairs, then shut her eyes and pulled her body back into its own space. Obviously events were having many repercussions...

Lowell, on the other hand, snorted rudely, chewed down loudly on the nicotine gum that she resorted to when smoking was _really _out of the question, and said in a mocking voice, '_Fanciullo, _that is the living proof of how naive you are.'

Everyone glared at her.

Except Domenic, who slammed his hands against the wooden table, stood up, and shouted, 'Oh for the love of all that's good and holy, what is it with you people?! Can't we just _do_ something? I don't give a rat's rear how it's done or what politics you pussy foot around with en route, but this is my sister we're talking about here! I'm sick of sitting on my hands like a bloody bull-frog and doing jack all while there's the chance that she's in danger! Now, are you going to do something, or what?'

Landry smiled, stood up suddenly (hand motioning quickly to all the military types that they could stay seated), and said, 'Exactly. My sentiment entirely, Doctor Monahan. Now, you're not going to like it, but this is how it's going to go down...'

* * *

_ **( Government Hospital, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

McKay paced the length of the ward impatiently. He switched on a radio-communicator left by someone on one of the low tables, and listened to Legate Rushman waffle for a minute or two - according to Daniel, he and the naturists each had their own communication networks that spanned the entire planet - and then switched it off again, uninterested. He continued to pace, glancing occasionally at a still-dead-to-the-world Zelenka. Rodney had almost worked the feeling right back down through his legs, and could even wriggle his toes. He didn't know how long he'd slept exactly, but at any rate, while he'd been sleeping Mitchell had been out being useful, and he hadn't.

Well, he'd had enough of that.

He did a final length of the ward and then knelt awkwardly to pull his shoes on. His body still ached in protest. Seriously, he was getting to old for this sort of thing. He shrugged the thought away, deciding that there was no point in complaining when he was alone and no-one else could appreciate the depths of his misery - and reminded himself firmly that he always worked best under pressure. Well, this was pressure. It was strange to think that he had actually kissed her already. It hadn't really felt like a kiss at the time - he'd been so wound up and only thinking about beating her in that bet they'd had - which, for the record, he _still _thought he should have won. But - he wondered what it would be like to actually kiss her just for the sake of kissing her. Ha, she'd probably punch him out, insane, unpredictable woman that she was.

He pulled on his jacket, patted its pockets to make sure that he had what bits of food he'd collected from around the place - he was particularlyfond of the Locruxian version of the power bar - and then went to the door and opened it slowly.

And found himself face to face with Chancellor Argennos.

Oh, great. Just the man he wanted to see. Hooray.

His complete and utter lack of enthusiasm must have been stamped all over his face, because the Chancellor smiled, titched at him like he was some kind of recalcitrant child, and said, 'You need to learn to hide your emotions more effectively, Doctor McKay. In fact, it seems to me that all of you people from Earth are disturbingly volatile with your more animalistic feelings. But then, what does that matter? It's your intellect that I require. I'm so very glad to see you up and read for work. The nurses had informed me that you would be.'

He thought of poor old Zelenka all wrapped up nicely in the bed behind him and wondered suddenly why he hadn't just been smart and taken that way out himself. Then he repeated querulously, 'Work? What work?'

'My dear Doctor McKay, work on the archaeological expedition, of course.'

'It got blown up, Chancellor, or did you miss that part?'

'It did, it did, I know. But I've had labourers on the job since the explosion and the tunnel has been cleared, just for you.' His eyes darkened a fraction, 'Quite literally just for you, since it would appear that our mutual friend the Lieutenant Colonel has seen fit to go absent without leave.'

McKay snorted, 'I don't seem to remember us needing your leave. And on that topic - what about everyone else who's gone AWOL, hmm?'

The Chancellor's smile was cool. 'All things change, Doctor McKay. But enough pleasant banter. Now you are coming with me, and we are both going to take a little look around this Ancient laboratory of mine.'

* * *

_ **(Stargate Command, Earth.)** _

Landry spent a good half hour laying out the details of the mission, and when he was done, the faces of most of the people around the table looked a little stunned. He shrugged, 'Kids, _I _didn't think it up. Now, are we doing this or not?'

'Yes,' said Domenic firmly. The others looked at each other.

'Good. Sheppard, you'll need to pick which three of your people you're taking with you, plus Teal'c and Doctor Jackson. And please, Jackson, don't even start protesting, I know you don't approve of what I'm asking you to do but given the circumstances it's the only card we've been left to play. I'll have you all fitted up with the right gear. Oh - and I'm sorry, Colonel, but you're only taking weapons that are _functioning_ \- and have been both tried and tested by the USAF, if you please. As for you, Doctor Lowell, I want you and your tobacco habit removed to the part of this complex that is the most distant from my office, and working on these damned Ancient weapons that he's _not _taking. Clear? As for when - we've been told to put it all on hold until tomorrow evening in case it all sorts itself out.'

'Yeah, like that's going to happen.'

Landry allowed himself a small smile, then, 'Dismissed.'

There was a rattle and squeak of chairs, and Dom's voice rang out fierce and hot, 'I'm going to Locrux with you, Colonel.'

John grinned and shook his head, 'Sorry, no can do. You heard the General. I've got three spaces to fill and you -' (he looked the man with the sparse beard up and down) '- are not on my list. Come to think of it, I don't even know how you got involved in all this, even if you are Monahan's sister.'

Dom's chin jutted out dangerously, 'I'm telling you here and now that you _are_ taking me.'

Sheppard snorted slightly, 'And now why would I got and do a thing like that? You're a - what -?'

'Biologist.'

'A biologist. Exactly. Sorry, kid, but like I said, no. I've done the whole scientists-tagging-along-thing. It almost always ends messily.'

Landry exchanged a glance with Elizabeth, slightly amused because he already had a feeling how this would end. And although he didn't generally approve of civilians on missions, Sheppard had been annoying him since he'd arrived, and so...

'You _will _take me.'

Atlantis' CO gave up and asked, 'Why?'

'Because, Lieutenant Colonel Jonathan Stuart Sheppard, I know things about you that even _you _don't know. And unless you want the finer details of your childhood, career, psych reports, and the notes on your inordinately colourful personal life that the SGC has seen fit to record in your personnel file made very, very public, you'll give me a gun and take me with you.'

John made a slightly hollow noise and looked to Elizabeth for support. She gave Dom an _I'm-not-amused _look, then shrugged and said, 'The man's not bluffing. And don't forget the gene pool you're dealing with here.'

The Colonel grunted crossly, then demanded, 'Have you ever even _held_ one of these before?' and passed over his side arm in a smart-aleck arc that he figured would make the scientist stumble. To his surprise, Dom caught it with a flick of the wrist, and a heartbeat later had shot right through the gathered people, neatly hitting a portrait of the president right between the eyes with an explosion of glass.

'You know that's kind of against the rules, don't you?' asked Sheppard, but he was grinning, and slapped Domenic on the back even as marines arrived.

The biologist grinned back, a little shamefaced, 'Personally, I'm more concerned about what my anti-guns sister will say when she finds out. So... can we go already?'


	13. A Hard Day's Night

** _(Beneath the Government Building, Sagara, Locrux.)_ **

At some stage, Meaghan realised, the pain had stopped. Not just because she'd just cease to feel it, but because it had actually _stopped_. Her mind crept back tentatively, cautiously. She lay with her eyes shut for a moment and listened. Silence. Nothing but the heavy, comforting sound of Carson breathing.

Not the sound of the Chancellor's robes.

Not the sound of instruments clicking.

Not the sound of her own skin...

She opened her eyes, and unwillingly glanced down at her body. It wasn't that she _wanted_ to see, exactly, but -

\- to her surprise, she found she'd been put back together again. Why had he left Carson so carelessly open, but not her?

She was still struggling with that thought when the door slid open and lucifer himself came in, smiling. 'Ah, back with us I see, Doctor Monahan? Fear not, there won't be any scars.'

Won't be any - _what_? She knew that she had never hated anyone like she hated him, knew that she would kill him without a moment's thought if she wasn't bound, if she actually had the energy, knew that - and he was making jolly comments about her not having scars? It didn't make a skerrick of sense.

Her hospital gown had been half-bound so as to cover her breasts. Now he strode over, and ran his hands along the skin left bare, his cold fingers tracing the length of the seams he had made in her, checking that everything was properly healed. She forced down her revulsion, fought desperately to hold her thoughts together in a semblance of sanity, and asked, 'Where are the others? Do you have them too?'

He smiled. 'Doctors Weir, Jackson and Lee have seen fit to returned to Earth. Doctor Zelenka remains in a coma, I'm afraid.'

'And McKay? And Mitchell?'

'Doctor McKay finds himself assisting me in my exploration the Ancient laboratory. Certainly, I have the gene now, but he is nevertheless more familiar with the technology than I am. As for the Colonel, he is proving a nuisance, but never mind.'

The fear that had been eating into her, that Rodney and Cameron and the others could be lying somewhere cut open like Carson, lessened and she breathed for a few seconds before realising that, firstly, she had no reason to believe a word he said, and secondly, it was better to be scared for _them_ then to focus too much on her own situation or she'd crumble into a thousand little broken pieces of damaged soul.

Argennos patted her on the belly and said, 'Now, Doctor Monahan. You and Doctor Beckett are both splendid examples of the natural manifestation of the ATA gene. And yet, as we have already discussed, it is clear that you can do more than he can. Are you curious to know that I have found the answer to your enigma? To know that I have discovered what it is that sets you apart? To know that it was what I had already suspected? Hmm?'

She didn't give him the pleasure of an answer. But still, he grinned. He had perfect white teeth, like a shark. She wished she could rip his hands off his arms, bite his fingers off at the knuckles, _anything_ to stop him touching her while he grinned like that.

'It is your ovaries, Doctor Monahan. You have extraordinary ovaries.'

_Extraordinary_.

The word pushed past her fear, pushed past her horror, and percolated down through her memory. The memory of Smo, descendant of the Lanteans on Alba - Smo, his hand over her womb where the Chancellor had his now - Smo, his wrinkled face smiling - Smo, telling her that he'd blessed her so she would bear extraordinary children.

_Extraordinary_.

A few months ago. When her ATA skills had increased.

_Extraordinary_.

He'd meant it literally. He'd altered something inside her, changed her, made it so that any babies she conceived would be more advanced. All the medical exams she'd had since then - none of them had checked her ovaries.

_Extraordinary_.

She had a second to marvel at what Smo had done for her, and then the Chancellor had a needle in his hand, and it seared through her abdomen.

* * *

** _(Near Earth.)_ **

Ba'al watched the tracer he had planted on Dom blink out of sight and then reappear, as he went through the wormhole.

'Stupendous...' he murmured. He already had a number of ships orbiting Locrux, obviously, but now he ordered his own to that point. _Finally_. He had been exchanging tech and intel with the Chancellor for some time, which was why he had proposed the experiment with the tau'ri girl in the first place.

But she and the Ancient laboratory were just too big a temptation...

* * *

** _( Government Hospital, Sagara, Locrux.)_ **

Mitchell glanced up as the young Sagaran slipped through the door back into the hospital basement where he sat waiting. 'Sorry about that,' whispered Gregori in a tremulous voice, after all this time still eyeing the knife at Mitchell's hip. He'd probably be scarred for life, thought Cameron wryly.

The Colonel grinned at him, 'So what was it this time?'

'A scheduled meeting. I am sorry about these interruptions, but if I did not go, there would be suspicion, you must understand.'

'Sure I understand, old thing, it's just a bit of a damned nuisance.' For a little over 48 hours they had been crawling the streets of Sagara, Gregori leading him to some enormously informative people who each - always after a good deal of persuasion and only _small_ amounts of veiled threats - had revealed to him so fascinating intel. But Gregori kept ducking off at unexpected moments. It was a little disconcerting, but couldn't be helped. As it was Mitchell had already learnt more than he had dreamt possible. Now all he had to do was-

His mind paused, body tensing as he heard the door open and then click shut again. He'd been sitting in this damned basement on and off for the last two days and so far nobody else had come in. _Now_ what? He jumped in shock as a pair of strong hands gripped his shoulders, but before he could react, Teal'c's voice said dryly, 'It is only I, Cameron Mitchell, for which you are most fortunate.'

_'Jay-_sus!' Mitchell exclaimed, heart pounding ten-to-the-dozen, 'You wanna scare me to death, buddy? When did you get here? Isn't the stargate guarded?' And then, in the dull light creeping through the small barred windows that looked out onto the street level, he looked across the faces of all the people standing before him, and continued, 'Wo, look who you've rounded up - way to go, Teal'c, man! Where's Sam?'

Teal'c allowed himself a tiny smile, 'I believe Colonel Carter is still running diagnostics on the new 304. As to your other questions - we arrived a short time ago, after sending a mild gas through the gate. And no, I do not desire your death by fright.' But by this time, Mitchell was already thumping Sheppard on the back in one of those enthusiastic sort-of-half-hugs that tough men share rather than look soft. Next he introduced Gregori, explained who he was, and a chorus of sympathetic 'sorrys' at his loss were offered all around. Then Teyla raised her eyes to his, Ronon a hulking shadow behind her, and asked, 'What of the others, Colonel Mitchell? Doctor McKay - Doctor Zelenka - Doctor Monahan?'

Mitchell shook his head. 'Zelenka's still out like a light, even with the super-dooper meds they've got here. According to the sweet little nurse I've been cultivating, the damage is just about healed though, and they're expecting him to wake tomorrow or the next day. As for McKay, the last time I saw him he was climbing the walls in frustration, but - again, according to the nurse - Argennos has been taking him out for a few hours each day. I'm guessing he's got him working back in the Ancient lab. Which concerns me more than a little. I mean, when you think about the stuff he could find...'

'What about Meaghan?' Dom stepped into the light and Mitchell started at the sight of him.

'Well, damn me for a mongoose! Sheppard, how the hell did you end up with Megs' brother on your team? ' And then, looking closer, 'Man, have you been in the wars!'

Sheppard looked a little pained, but before he could answer, Dom broke in with, 'Long story, mate, when we get out of all this you can buy me a beer and I'll tell it to you. In the meantime, what's the news on Meaghan?'

Mitchell shook his head apologetically. 'I'm sorry, I don't know. I mean, sure she's slightly mad but I doubt she just wandered off.'

Dom's chin jutted out dangerously, and he made his jaw pop in annoyance, 'No kidding. Did you know that there's some kind of big conspiracy out there to get hold of her because someone started a rumour that there's something special about her?'

Mitchell looked blank.

Teyla nodded, 'It appears that both someone of influence on this planet, and Ba'al, have an interest in Doctor Monahan. I am concerned that she has been abducted by one of them, Colonel Mitchell. Meaghan is a friend - I would not like something bad to happen to her.'

_'Ba'al_?'

Daniel grinned as though to say, _well, what did you expect? _

Sheppard shrugged. 'Yup. Apparently he's the one who beat the kid's face into all those pretty shades of the rainbow. Oh - and just out of reference, don't piss him off if he's got a gun. He's a damn good shot.'

The 'kid' groaned and said, 'You know I am _really_ starting to wonder about the safety of our planet if you people are our front line defence, and you always stand around like this making small talk...'

'He's right,' said John, 'But first - have you found anything out about which swine is responsible for Carson's death?'

Mitchell nodded firmly, 'Yes. The bomb was thrown by Rushman's men, there's no doubt about it. But that's not all-'

They all looked at Mitchell expectantly. He grinned, pleased with himself. 'Legate Rushman does not exist.'

'But you just said -'

'I _said_ that his men set the bomb. And they did. Or at least, the men who _believe_ that they have a leader called Legate Rushman did. But I don't think he exists. That's why he's publicity shy. I think it's all the Chancellor, pretending to be himself _and _the opposition leader, playing the Locruxians off against each other, so that they don't notice what he's up to.'

'Like striking arms-for-meds deals with Ba'al.' Daniel didn't look as surprised as Mitchell thought he would be.

'Exactly.'

Domenic crunched his knuckles into the pockets of the military kit they'd made him wear. 'But what about _Meaghan?_ Where does she fit in all of this? As much as I love her - she's not _that_ extraordinary! What does she have that they want?'

'The ATA gene.' A new voice.

They all started, a flurry of guns and blasters swinging towards where McKay stood in the shadow-filled doorway, his hands pulled up reflexively (like _that_ would help against a bullet), and his eyes winced shut. And then, when he realised that they'd all managed to keep themselves from squeezing any triggers, he cracked his eyes open and repeated - as though none of that had just happened - 'Like I said, it's her genes.' Then, tiredly, 'Who are the extras?'

'Gregori, Eldra's husband, and Doctor Domenic Monahan.'

McKay looked blank at the first name, since he didn't have the foggiest idea who Eldra was, but stared curiously at the second one. He cast an arrogant glance up and down the younger man, with his red beard and longish hair, and commented simply, 'Figures.'

Dom, who had taken an instant dislike to the tone used, and was in a bad mood anyway, demanded belligerently, 'And what the hell's _that_ supposed to mean?'

McKay gave him a superior look and answered breezily, 'Oh, nothing, just that you are exactly what I'd expected you to be. Ill-kempt intellectual meets blown-away hippie. Nice bruises, by the way, they really go with the beard.'

He had stepped into the light while he spoke, which meant that Dom could see his face and recognise the man he was talking to from the personnel files. He glared, 'Oh, _really_? Well you're exactly what I expected you'd be like too. Just the right amount of stuck-up fat-headedness needed to be the kind of bloke who'd blow up five-sixths of a solar system!'

'Er - boys?' said Mitchell loudly, wondering in vague amusement what Dom would say if he realised that _this_, of all people, was the colleague his sister was smitten with.

McKay pulled himself together. 'Sorry. Yes. Anyway, it's her gene.'

'Don't lots of you have this gene?'

'As a matter of fact, yes. Come to think of it, there's a pretty good chance that you do too. But of all of us at the dig, Monahan and Carson were the only ones who'd been born with it, and only they've vanished. Coincidence? I think not.'

'Carson's dead, Rodney,' warned John in a dangerous voice.

McKay set his face stubbornly, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, 'Oh, really? Prove it. You should know by now that nobody is dead in our line of work until you actually have them on ice - and even then it's not guaranteed. Hell, the whole of the SGC should be accustomed to that by now with the amount of times that _you've _wafted in and out of the land of the living, Daniel.'

'Indeed,' said Teal'c suddenly, 'He does have a point. If I have learnt one thing from watching Earth soap-operas, it is that nobody is dead until the body has been seen.'

McKay humphed at the analogy - Dom looked a little stunned that someone like Teal'c would watch _soapies_ \- and then continued, 'It's not just the ATA gene. She keeps on developing what she can do, more than the rest of us. I know that Elizabeth had Carson studying her on the sly, even before she left Atlantis. It's not my scene but - put it this way, if you gave her basic flight lessons, Sheppard, she'd be your best jumper pilot.'

'Right,' broke in Dom, who could see Sheppard was about to fiercely protest (whatever a jumper might be), 'Great, so this Chancellor's the bad guy. Can we go blast him to hell already and find out what he's done to Megs?! You are aware that he's had her for _days_ now, right? Are you military, or mice?' He waved his gun a little.

McKay blinked at him, 'I see that there are certain character traits you don't share with your sister.'

Dom stared at him, 'You're saying that you've never seen her in a _temper_?'

'Ah - good point - no, it's more - well, I guess there was never a loaded _gun_ involved.' The physicist paused to play that image over in his mind, thinking for a moment that a warrior Meaghan could possibly be kind of hot, then decided with the sudden memory of how she broke his nose that she was dangerous enough as it was.

It was probably just as well her brother couldn't get the finer details of what was wandering through the Canadian's mind because he might have objected to McKayusing the adjective hot in connection with his sister. As it was, Dom grinned, 'She's just more of a verbal abuse kind of woman. So, are we going?'

Mitchell put up a hand suddenly, 'Just a moment - how'd _you_ find us anyway? I mean, the others I can understand, they can track me the same way they beam me but -?'

McKay shrugged. 'Argennos had me sorting through the Ancient med lab. I'm really _not _the right man for the job, most of it's just advanced voodoo, although - we do have a _bit_ of a problem.'

'What now?'

'Argennos has his own Sphere. He's already had it a few days, in fact.'

Mitchell looked at Sheppard, 'The thing you access your Ancient Area 51 with back in the Pegasus Galaxy?'

'Exactly,' continued McKay, 'And that's not all. He's figured out the whole retrovirus deal, what a surprise. I guess maybe he is a medical whiz kid like he was claiming, and I _did_ have my blood taken when I was in hospital, so...'

Sheppard blinked. 'And if he's involved with Ba'al, and Ba'al is still getting intel from Earth, then...'

'Then he probably knows exactly what it is and how to use it,' finished Mitchell.

'Hang on,' demanded McKay, '_Ba'al?_'

Dom positively glared at him. The physicist threw his hands up, 'Fine, whatever. Tell me later. The point is, when I was there I found a life signs detector. I figured you'd be using the hospital as your base, because Zelenka's here, so I just searched for the people who looked like they were somewhere they shouldn't be - thought I admit the quantity of you stumped me a bit.' He paused, 'By the way, Daniel, didn't you say this was an Asgard planet originally?'

The archaeologist nodded. 'Yes, why?'

'Well - how come there's a goa'uld sarcophagus down the hall?'

* * *

** _(Beneath the Government Building, Sagara, Locrux.)_ **

Meaghan stood in a corner, rocking silently to a tune playing in her head that only she could hear. She'd been let out of the manacles when the Chancellor was done. Apparently he wasn't afraid she'd hurt him. Wasn't afraid that she'd hurt herself either, since he'd taken all the instruments with him when he'd left and it would take more creative energy than she currently had left to try and think up a way to kill herself with the objects remaining on hand. She was still dressed in the ivory gown and skirt-thing, and she'd bound the few cords at the breast as best as she could.

She'd never felt so violated.

The Chancellor had sewn Carson back up because she'd begged him to, told him she couldn't stay in the same room as things were. To her surprise, he'd smiled obligingly and done as she asked, even telling her - like some kind of good-natured uncle - that the Doctor would also be scarless. But Carson was still weak. His face was pale and had a bruised tint to it beneath his stubble.

Neither of them could follow the passage of time. For all they knew, they'd been in the lab for weeks, so much so did the surrealism of it all lock them in its jaws. But in truth, it had only been 24 hours since the Chancellor had had the needle in Meaghan's belly and then left them alone. They didn't talk much; didn't try to find ways to escape because they'd both already exhausted those options. Carson had been focussing on regaining his strength, focussing himself on the unsteady hope that someone would come for them. Meaghan had explained that everyone thought he was dead, but he couldn't accept that McKay and Elizabeth wouldn't see the coincidence of Meaghan vanishing as well.

Unless there was a plausible excuse for her death as well.

He stood and watched the linguist intently. She had sunk deep into a world of silence, which he couldn't break her from no matter what he did. And she kept pulling the hospital gown around her as though afraid he might see her bare mid-rift, kept staring blankly at walls as though she could see things coming through them. 'Meaghan,' he said kindly.

She started at the sudden sound of his voice, tightening her grip on her gown until the knuckles went white, and her lips trembling. To see her so easily shaken was disturbing for the Scotsman. She was such a tough wee thing, and now - he walked to her quietly and said in the firmest voice he could manage, 'Meaghan, I'm your doctor, right?'

She nodded, and wiped her nose unappealingly on her sleeve, breathing in so deep that he could see her throat struggle.

'Well then. Let me take a look at what he's done to you.'

She seemed to freeze for a moment, then shut her eyes and let her gown loose from her fingers, pushing it silently open.

'Oh, sweet lord,' he murmured and caught himself against her shoulder. He stared at her body, reached out a hand, and placed it gently, fearfully, against her stomach. He'd seen her semi-naked in her most recent medical exam, had complimented her on the weight she'd lost. And he'd seen her in the snug fitting ball gown at the dinner. Her belly had been flat. If she hadn't lost all that weight he'd never even been able to tell.

But she _had_, and he _could _tell.

Tell that, to his experienced eyes, she was a little over ten weeks pregnant.

'Oh, Carson,' she said, 'I'm so frightened.'


	14. Lady Madonna

**_(Beneath the Government Building, Sagara, Locrux.)_ **

Carson sat and stared at the wall in anger. The bastard. The bloody bastard.

A day, perhaps, had passed since he had realised what Argennos had done to Meaghan. He wondered how long she'd known, how long she'd guessed; wondered when she would have told him if he hadn't confronted her. At any rate, it explained her nausea. It wasn't a reaction to the injection. Well. It _was._ But it was also morning sickness. Carson had already been losing track of time, but when he looked at Meaghan he couldn't help but feel like they must have been there for months. If only.

Argennos had come and gone a few times since then. Brought them food. Each time he would make the girl unlace her gown so he could inspect her ever-increasing belly as though he were the proud doctor of a woman who'd had trouble conceiving. And he talked. Talked continuously while he examined her. Explained that the idea hadn't been his, but had been a business proposition put to him by Ba'al (Meaghan hadn't even known who Ba'al was, really), explained how delighted he was that the experiment had worked perfectly on his first trial. He described how he had taken two sets of DNA, blended them, and then tweaked them to accelerate the growth. 'About ten weeks per day,' he'd said proudly, and Carson had stared at him in abject horror. Argennos had looked at his expression and explained baldly that neither Ba'al nor himself had the patience to sit around _waiting_...

They had demanded to know what Ba'al wanted with a baby, and he'd just shrugged, saying he wasn't interested and it was none of his business. And each time, at the end of his visit, he would slap her on the rump like in an overly-familiar avuncular way, and then waft back out of the room.

Carson had never been particularly inclined towards murderous feelings, but if he'd had a weapon or even a decent dose of his usual energy, he'd have killed the bastard.

Now Meaghan sat beside him, a hand curved over her distended womb. It protruded from the opening in the front of her hospital gown, the skin clear weirdly clear, contents almost visible from without, and a dark line, the _linea nigra_, running up to her bellybutton. He'd never seen anything quite like it. But then, he'd never seen a pregnancy progress at this rate either. Two days in and twenty weeks gone... The pale freckled skin of her face was blotchy in patches, and the shape of the belly had already moved to sit lower than it had done the day before. He sighed, glanced at her, and said softly, 'There are ways. We could end it.' Not that he had ever terminated a pregnancy this far gone, though technically she was still within legal limits, but under the circumstances -

She looked at him, void of emotion. She tried unsuccessfully to talk, then cleared her throat and managed to say, 'No.'

'Meaghan, love, it's a monstrous thing he's done. You can't be expected -'

Her face was still blank as she said, 'You think I haven't thought about it? Think I haven't wished it were dead? Wished I were dead? I never asked for this, never wanted it this way, the _violation_ -' For a moment her voice had actually managed an edge of anger, but then it dropped away again and the blankness came back, 'But I can't. Can't do it. Can't even wish I could. It's a _baby_, Carson.'

He stroked her hair, 'It's not natural.'

At his touch, she suddenly seemed to want to talk. For the last two days he'd been trying to urge her into conversation, and now, finally, she burst out in a dry, bitter voice, 'It's strange, isn't it? I'd always wondered how women who'd gotten pregnant after they'd been raped could bear to carry the child to term, bear to give it birth, bear to raise it, without looking it in the eyes every day and thinking, _you are the product of something hateful_. Perhaps I'm starting to understand, now.' She paused, and actually looked him in the eyes, 'You know, all I ever wanted was to grow up and have children. A daughter, I'd name her Myfawny. But somehow life got in the way. Study. Travel. Work. Seems unfair that this is how it finally happened.' And then a horrible, ugly smile flitted across her face and she added in a black voice, 'And even if I said yes, even if we ended it, don't you think he'd just start over?'

Carson could feel the baby moving against him, through the wall of her womb. The skin was pulled so tight, like glass, with a web of spidery white lines across the surface. 'It's too fast, love. Your body can't cope. I don't know where the man has his brains - but - I can't see as how the wee bairn is dealing with it any better than you are. I doubt that it will make it, my dear.' He stopped stroking her hair and put his arm around her shoulders. 'I'm sorry.'

She shivered, knew instinctively what he meant, 'It's not _your _fault.'

'Aye - but it's my DNA, isn't it? That's why I'm here? If I hadn't been-'

She laughed a little hysterically, 'He'd have found someone.' Then she shivered again. She'd spent half of yesterday ill, and today her whole body ached. The very bones hurt and all of her skin stung.

He looked at her suddenly, 'There's something else - something you're not telling me. Something about you? Something about the bairn?'

She squeezed her hazel-brown eyes shut. 'It's a little boy, Carson.' Her voice was so faint that he had to strain to hear her. 'I can _feel _him. Like there's a link between us, something more than just an umbilical cord. I can feel that it's a little boy. The Chancellor is right, Smo was right, he's so advanced... I can feel his brain. So powerful. But -'

Carson could tell that the fear was showing on his face. What kind of child was she carrying? 'But-?' he prompted, low.

She opened her eyes and started straight into his, 'But he's _empty_, Carson. Such a brain, such potential, but so very empty. It's like Argennos made the perfect human being but left out the soul. My baby - the baby - our baby - this baby - it's an empty, empty thing. And Carson, it scares me to death.'

He held her close, and held her close, and talked about anything and everything. Talked about what they'd do when they got free. Talked about Atlantis. Talked about Scotland. Talked about his mum. Talked about the plans he'd had for his life. And then, when she'd finally fallen asleep against his shoulder, he talked about Laura Cadman and wondered if he'd ever see her again.

* * *

The next morning, it was the colour that woke her.

The colour gold.

It persuaded her into waking - left her feeling oddly light-headed - made her look around. Nothing that she could see had changed except the overpowering sense of happiness and the overwhelming colour of gold. She curved her hands against her translucent belly, and felt the warmth and the gold pulse through her. Not her _belly_, she corrected herself, her _womb. _Because inside it, she could feel her son. Really feel him. Him - his _mind_, not just his brain. And he could feel her.

'Oh, Carson...' she whispered, voice broken with wonder.

He had been dozing at her side, but now he struggled his eyes open and blinked at her utterly baffled, after three days of tears and anger and blankness, to see her looking like _that._

'Carson...' she put her fingers out, reaching for him blindly, not taking her eyes from her stomach, somehow grasping his hand and pressing it against the tight, painful arc of skin. 'Oh, Carson, can you feel it? His emotions are gold. He _has _emotions, has a mind, has a soul - suddenly, oh, Carson, my baby isn't empty any more!'

He stared at her. Part of him wanted to be as happy about it as she obviously was. He could feel the child kick gently against his hand beneath her skin. But most of him thought it had been better when she'd hated it, looked at it as a soulless husk, rather than with the rapture she now had on her face.

'Carson,' she burst out suddenly, 'I'm a _mother_!'

He snatched his hand away as though it had burnt him. She didn't honestly think - they _knew _it was an experiment, the Chancellor had said the baby was for Ba'al - she knew that - she didn't honestly, couldn't honestly think that she was somehow going to get to keep the bairn - _could _she?

* * *

_ **(Basement of the Government Hospital, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

To Dom's grudging acceptance, they had spent some hours planning their exact moves - smoothing out Landry's orders to fit with the lay of the land. Then, as the sun set across the city of steel and glass, they split into three groups. Daniel and Teal'c would head to the naturist's central office. Ronon, Teyla and Sheppard would head to the so-called Legate Rushman's. Mitchell, McKay and Dom, on the other hand, were aimed at the Chancellor's Government Building. Gregori had come and gone throughout the day, partly leiasoning with the other group (of scientists and marines, who were laying low near the Ancient Lab waiting for all hell to break loose), but arrived in time to attach himself to Mitchell's group. Sheppard hadn't been the least bit happy with the divisions, but had grudgingly admitted that the bomb _had _come from 'Rushman's' building, and so they would probably be the most likely to meet armed resistance there.

Neither Sheppard _nor_ Mitchell had been happy with McKay's participation. They didn't have enough weapons to go around, they said, and Mitchell didn't believe that the scientist was fully healed - which McKay said was rubbish - but no amount of reasoning would dissuade him and in the end it was, typically, Dom who exclaimed, 'Oh, so let the stubborn meatball come already! And there _are _enough weapons - you've got a P-90, so give him your sidearm. At least he seems determined to be _doing_ something, which is more than can be said for the rest of you blathering old women!'

Being compared poorly in contrast to McKayof all people, had been just what was needed to finally get Sheppard and Mitchell moving. And so the three groups walked into the night and off in their separate directions.

* * *

_ **(Beneath the Government Building, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

Carson was watching her in concern. If Argennos' schedule was correct, she was due any time. She'd already had a few contractions, though quite spaced apart. But he had a feeling, such a feeling, that it was all going to end horribly. The way she'd kept waxing lyrical since the bairn's mind had blossomed into existence made him cringe. Whatever Ba'al had planned, he kept telling her, she wasn't going to like it. The fact that the Chancellor had advanced the gestation at such a rate, the fact that a special formula would need to be used some time after birth to slow it back down again...

At one point, he had put his hand on her arm and said, 'You do know this isn't your only chance to have a child?'

She looked at him, 'Is _that_ what you think this is about? Me thinking this is it? Now or never?' She paused, gazed inwards. 'Perhaps... maybe. Since I've felt his mind. Since I - You know I'm shy of twenty-nine. That's pushing thirty.'

'Thirty is much too young to be worrying about that sort of thing, Meaghan.'

'Really? I read once that a woman is at her peak-fertility at twenty-two.'

He shook his head, 'You've done too much palaeanthroplogy, lass. There's no reason you won't be more than capable of having kids for a couple of _decades_ yet. It's not the stone age anymore.'

She smiled slightly, 'Carson - I live in a galaxy on the other side of the universe, in a city full of confirmed bachelors, unrepentant kirks, and a veritable army of women _much_ more attractive than I am. Where there's a clear policy against childbirth. And you're going to guarantee me motherhood?'

'You could leave Atlantis, go back to Earth.'

'And spend my life dusting museum displays or translating anime for the SBS? With a husband who comes home from work every day more tired, and less interested, than the last? No thank you.'

He'd lost that argument. But he just wished she didn't look so damned _happy. _

* * *

_ **(Sagara, Locrux.)** _

The sky over Sagara was oddly subdued that night. The normally endless stream of traffic was limited to the odd flash of lights, as though the entire city had felt some shadowy premonition of the danger to come, and had locked themselves away in their homes. Not that that would help them much.

Mitchell had his P-90 crooked in his arm, ready for use, and led the way. They walked tucked in against the shadows of buildings where light did not reach, until they arrived outside the Government Building. Up on the hill, they could see the arc of the stargate cutting against the night sky - lit up brightly and bristling with guards. But it wasn't just the stargate that was guarded. Since their arrival and the gas they'd used, the entire city seemed to have sprung up armed men all over the place. The Chancellor was waiting for them to make their move. But the Government Building itself was lightly guarded. He seemed so secure in his belief that they would blame 'Rushman' or the naturists. So secure in his belief of their naivety.

Motioning Gregori ahead with him, and Dom taking the rear behind McKay, Mitchell slid to the door and then shook his head, 'Locked.' He made a face at McKay to explain that he should cpme look at it, but before the scientist could move, Dom was at the door, gun shoved beneath his arm, fingers sweeping deftly over panel and lock, and then it opened with a click. _Thank heaven for that year with the private investigator... _He didn't pause to marvel at the fact that he'd just impossibly picked a completely alien lock, but nodded at Mitchell and together they opened he door and stepped into the enormous foyer.

* * *

_ **(Beneath the Government Building, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

'Carson.'

He looked at her. She'd gone very pale, fine beads of sweat at her hairline. He told himself to calm down. He wasn't an obstetrician, but he could do this, he was a doctor, he'd done a thousand things more complicated, of course he could deliver a baby.

'Carson - he's stopped moving.'

Oh, bloody hell. He'd known it was all too much. He forced himself to smile, went to her, put his hand on his forehead. She was burning up. 'He needn't move all the time, love.'

'No - Carson - I can't _feel _him anymore...'

* * *

_ **( Government Building, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

In the night darkness, the great glass windows with their rainbow coloured shards glittered back and oppressive, and the white polished floor looked more like something from a mausoleum than an entrance. Gregori, who had never been inside the state building, looked around in slight awe, and then the four men walked across the room. It was all very well to have gotten inside, thought McKay, but now they had to find the Chancellor and then -

A dull thud ran out as the body of a guard dropped senseless to the hard floor. Mitchell grinned broadly, realising from the other's faces that they hadn't even known the guy was there, and protested, 'What? He had his hand to his communicator.'

'We could have asked him where the Chancellor does his evil plotting,' McKay snapped, 'Or at least where he is right now.'

But Mitchell put his hand out to silence him and said quietly, 'We don't have to.'

'How's that, Einstein?'

'We have Gregori.'

'What?'

The Sagaran snuffled, 'The Chancellor has a component in his blood that lets us track him - his own personal doctor is a naturist, he put it there for us. That's how we realised he was Rushman.' He held up a small piece of tech. It had a light blipping on it. Then he pointed to the end of the hall, at a sliver of white that showed a not-quite-shut door, and they headed in that direction. The door led to a case of stairs, and the stairs to a warren of small offices the type that junior government clerks might work in. It all looked very innocuous, rather like the beaurocratic offices on any planet, except -

'Oh,' murmured Gregori in a small voice, eyes wide as the Chancellor, his back to them, rose from an opening in the floor.

'That the guy?' demanded Dom with a hiss, but the fact that Mitchell had already advanced on him with his gun out answered that question. A second later the Colonel had the Chancellor against a wall, his P-90 pressed hard into the middle of his chest, and demanded, 'You got our people down that hole?'

But McKay and Dom had already hurried down it.

* * *

Domenic came to a shocked halt, McKay ramming into him at the unexpected stop. The Canadian started to complain in a loud voice, but then he saw what had made the younger man halt, and it shut him up like a swift blow to the head.

Dom was staring at his sister where she lay in a stranger's arms - his mind too stunned to run through personnel files - a fine trickle of blood and fluid running the length of one of her thighs. Her stomach was clear like cloudy glass. So very large. So very _pregnant_.

The stranger stared up at them, tears of relief in his eyes, 'Oh thank God, McKay.' The man's words crashed through Dom's brain, utterly impossible, utterly unimaginable, as he continued, 'She's gone into labour and the bairn's dead and now she's unconscious. Argennos used our DNA, she's full term, accelerated. She's got a dead baby inside, are you listening? She needs an obstetrician - if the strain's killed the bairn I don't know what it's doing to _her_. Have you heard me? Go!'

McKay blinked at him, then, though he understood as little of what had been said as Dom did, turned and started to run back the way he'd come.

But when Dom turned and followed him just a few horrified minutes later, he rose from the door and found himself in the middle of an even worse nightmare.

Ba'al had come to Sagara.


	15. Cry For A Shadow

_ **( Government Building, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

Mitchell stood, body positively bristling with outrage, his hands bound behind his back. Not that he hadn't taken out four of the goa'uld's goons in the process, but it was flimsy satisfaction compared to the knowledge that he'd been caught. He sucked the blood from his teeth, spat it on the floor with a defiant expression on his face, and said, wiping his mouth on his shoulder, 'Ba'al, old buddy. Nice to see you again.'

Gregori lay in a lump on the floor.

Ba'al smiled smoothly, 'Oh, likewise, Colonel Mitchell. You know, it's always _such _a pleasure to deal with you. I _always _enjoy our little confrontations.'

Mitchell grinned. 'Yeah, me too. It's the only reason I let you get away each time.'

The goa'uld laughed in genuine amusement. 'Oh, mutual, mutual.' Then he glanced at a still struggling McKay and ordered curtly, 'Strip him of weapons and let him go. You, go with him. If he speaks the truth and the baby is dead, that would be very disappointing indeed, but I will _not _lose the woman. Go!' McKay and one of Ba'al's men vanished down the hall.

It was at that moment that Dom appeared.

Ba'al smiled. 'Ah, Doctor, Doctor.' Armed men grabbed him, pulled him over to Ba'al. 'We had a deal, Doctor. I let you go on the condition that you scurry along merrily back home and forget you ever heard anything. But did you abide to that deal? Of course not. No, you had to play the hero, come and gallantly save your sister. But you know, Doctor Monahan, that is_ exactly _whatI counted on you doing; and used it very much to my advantage. You have to understand, the good Chancellor Argennos and I have traded for quite a while. I gave him a sarcophagus. He gave me some intriguing medicines. He scratched my back, I scratched his. But when I proposed the experiment with your sister - and learnt furthermore of the lab that had been found - I decided that I might just take her and the Ancient technology for myself. But without you, Doctor Monahan, none of it would have been possible.' And he reached out, and ripped a miniscule piece of tech from the base of Dom's neck - the tracking device.

The biologist stared in horror, but Ba'al just kept talking. 'Ah, the sweet ironies of life. You see, I could have attacked at any time - my forces far out power those of the dear Chancellor's - but I knew he had her hidden away. There was risk I might not find her - a risk that I was not willing to take...'

The Chancellor, who till now had been standing quietly in the sure belief that Ba'al had come to save him, turned livid. '_What _is the meaning of this, Ba'al? Part of our trade agreement was that you never set foot on my planet uninvited.'

'_Your _planet? I thought it was supposed to be a democracy.'

The Chancellor didn't even deign that with a response, but continued in cold anger, 'I didn't even complain when you turned up here days ahead of schedule. I shared the technology of the Sphere with you. I have done everything you could possibly ask.'

'Now really, Argennos. Don't be so simple. You know as well as I do that if it weren't for my intel, you would never have known what the Sphere was, let alone how to access it. I supplied that information.'

'But _I _opened it. _And_ gave you free access to the technology within.'

'For which I am most grateful, believe you me. I have already made a number of fascinating adaptations to my ships from what I've found. But, really, Argennos. Now that I have that, and the girl - what use are you to me any more?'

Finally the Chancellor raised his voice, 'I was to keep the woman for further study! You only get the infant!'

'The infant is dead, you fool. And I don't think you're in a position to be demanding anything.'

But at that moment, though neither man realised it, they had _both _lost that right. Because all over Locrux, communicators started up unexpectedly and a short succinct broadcast began, on loop - and transmitted by Daniel (from the naturist's building) and Sheppard (on 'Rushman's' massive network). Informing the population of what had been going on. Revealing to them the farce they'd been put through.

Obviously, the vast majority of the population wouldn't believe a word of it.

But the members of the power-hungry little minorities would. And they were the ones that mattered. They were the dangerous ones. The ones with the weapons. The ones just itching for an excuse to go engage in battle. Which was why, a second after Ba'al had spoken, the first missile shot through the sky and the ground beneath them trembled.

Civil war had come to Sagara.

* * *

_ **(Rushman's Headquarters, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

Sheppard sat with his friends and watched as the sky lit up with the white glow of gunfire. He tapped his radio, 'I guess we did it, Jackson.'

Daniel's voice sounded unhappy, 'Yes, I guess we did. I relayed the message just like we were told to. And I checked the status of the _fourth _team. Apparently they're cleaning out the Ancient lab at a smart pace. I'd say there'll be fighting for a few days before someone even questions how it started, let alone notices that the stuff is gone.'

Sheppard sighed, 'Yeah, and then our people waltz on in and spread the joys of peace and reconciliation - as though we had nothing to do with it - which apparently will make us so damn popular that the President will get his treaty back with bells on. Great plan. Great guy.'

Daniel's voice crackled over the radio, 'Hey, you voted for him, not me.'

The glow and crash of war would almost have been beautiful, if only it had been anything else...

* * *

_ **( Government Hospital, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

The time that followed was a blur.

The journey to the hospital -- and all around them the sky lit up as the political minorities fought for supremacy. The sound of gunfire rattling in the not-so-distant distance. The eerie glow of the lights as the power surged on and off.

At the door of the immense building, guards stood around with stupefied expressions on their faces, having heard like everyone else that the Chancellor had played them, having been dumbfounded by the fact that there'd been no official broadcast to deny it. And then to see him arrive, bustled along by Ba'al's men like a prisoner... The goa'uld grabbed one by the front of his uniform and commanded, 'I want you to inform your colleagues that they are to protect the hospital, do you hear me?'

The man looked at him. Silently. Sullenly.

Ba'al's eyes glowed yellow and the guard fumbled in for his radio.

And then Meaghan was in an operating theatre and a bevy of medics surrounded her. Dom had trouble keeping what was happening fixed in his mind as he gripped his twin's hand and wondered what the hell had happened to life as he knew it. He wasn't even sure why Ba'al had let him come in with her. Maybe he reckoned that it would help keep Meaghan in good condition, something he was obviously concerned about.

And then she returned to consciousness and cried out, and he shoved his doubts about reality to one side and tried watch only her face.

_Her _grasp on reality had been completely severed. She knew that her baby was coming, but knew that it was all wrong. Knew that he was dead. Knew that she'd had a brief day of his shiny new soul and now he was dead. The grief was a hideous thing. She didn't _want_ to know

Someone was holding her hand, someone who looked a lot like her brother. And someone else was telling her to push, and it hurt everywhere, and she didn't want to push because her baby was dead and so what was the point. Her baby was dead. This had been done to her, all this horror, and now at the end, nothing. She felt nothing at all inside her. It was a void of skin and bones and placenta. It was her own fault. She'd wished he was dead. Wished he was dead, and now he was. She was to blame. Voices swung around her talking about painkillers and anaesthetics and then it was Carson - how did Carson get here? Didn't the Chancellor have him? - saying, 'Death _in utero_.' And after that someone jabbed her with a needle and they decided to cut her open again. She screamed at the thought, hit out against them. Not again, she wouldn't be cut open again, wouldn't let them! Her baby was dead inside her, not moving, not breathing, not alive, but dead - she carried a corpse, and now, and now they wanted to cut her open again!

Then the sedative started to kick in. She could feel it rising up to swallow her, felt it numbing her brain. Nothing would ever show that she had been a mother, felt like a mother, for one day. Just before her eyes rolled back, she managed to murmur, 'Leave the scar.' And then the world vanished. _Again. _

* * *

It took Sheppard and Daniel, and their companions, well over half an hour to rendezvous at the Government Building as planned, but only a few minutes to realise that something had gone terribly wrong. They found the door in the floor, found Gregori in a shivering heap where Ba'al had left him. It had taken a while to remind him who they were and convince him to talk through his shock. But they had only needed to hear the words _Ba'al _and _hospital_ to have them running back out of the building, Gregori snuffling and chasing after them in a panic that he'd be left behind again.

They reached the door. Sheppard turned on the Sagaran, and hissed, 'You're welcome to come along for the ride, buddy, but I swear to God if you don't shut up I will have _any _of these people beat you up. And believe me when I say they are _all_ more than capable.' Gregori shut his mouth and eyed them fearfully, especially Ronon with his very large knife. Then Sheppard turned his attention onto the guards, and wondered who had given them the order to stand there, and how much persuasion it would take to make them go somewhere else instead. He fired a shot into the glass of a hospital window, shattering it above them so it rained down on their heads. They took one look at him - and Teal'c - and Ronon - and the others -

\- and fled.

Sheppard smirked smugly. Whoever had given the order, they didn't seem to care much.

They entered the hospital and took down four of Ba'al's men before anyone had even noticed their arrival - after all, amidst all the noise outside, what was one more gunshot...?

* * *

McKay leant back against the wall inside the operating theatre, eyes shut and his chest still heaving from having run to fetch help. He hadn't run that fast since - well - quite a while. And now to stand and listen to her screaming, and then sobbing, and then the silence as the dope hit her... He _really_ wanted to leave the room. He had no right to be there. He didn't want to be there. He didn't understand what was going on. Suddenly she was pregnant. Pregnant with - what? - if he'd understood the babbling - with Carson's child? Carson - Carson who was alive after all, Carson he'd cried over - and now he didn't even have the energy to acknowledge his return to the world of the living. Just tried to grasp at reality. Carson was alive, and suddenly _she _was giving birth to - what? - a dead baby? And _crying _about it. He couldn't see how she could be crying about it. From the small bits Carson had explained to the doctors, she'd had this child put there against her will, for such a short time, and now was breaking her heart over the fact that it was gone. It made no sense.

And she'd gone stark raving mad about having a caesarean.

He opened his eyes, some time later, when he heard Carson saying, 'Aye, and it was a beautiful boy.'

McKay still refused to look at _her _but he watched as the dead baby was bathed and then placed to one side. He walked over to it slowly, almost against his own will. It was so small, and an odd colour. Thank God its eyes were shut.

It had her nose.

And without giving himself time to second guess what he was about to do, he wrapped the tiny body in a towel and left the room silently. She couldn't see it like this.

* * *

It was Dom who spotted Sheppard and his team. Dom was in the hall outside Meaghan's room. Mitchell sat, still bound, against a wall, while Ba'al stood yelling angrily at the Chancellor. 'How did this happen?' he was demanding.

The Chancellor actually cringed. 'I don't know. Maybe it _was _a little too fast. But if I had been there the _moment _the child died, I could probably have done something and you would still have had it! But because you interrupted me... I would have given it the formula, had it stabilised, and then when it was ready, continued the acceleration process in stages.'

'You'll have to start over.'

'Not here. Look out the window, Ba'al. It's finished.'

The goa'uld shrugged. 'Then you will have to come with me.' And he was snapping his fingers and ordering that the complete contents of the labs, and the Chancellor's office, be beamed aboard his ship, when McKay slipped out of the operating theatre behind them, and hurried down the hall. Nobody - not the Chancellor, not Ba'al - noticed him going.

Dom didn't notice him either, because his attention had been fixed firmly by the sight of Teal'c's of head darting around a corner. Teal'c's head wasn't the kind of think you forgot in a hurry. Dom forced down a grin, but nudged Mitchell with his boot and helped him up to his feet. Then he slide over to goon closest to him, nodded imperceivably to Teal'c, and then grabbed the mans gun and cracked him hard in the temple with it, before pointing it at Ba'al, almost before anyone had known what had happened. Seconds later, Sheppard and the rest of them had appeared and had them surrounded.

Ba'al chuckled, 'My, my, I was wondering when the rest of SG-1 would turn up. And more little friends brought to play too, I see. How flattering.' He turned to look insolently at Dom and Mitchell, 'As lovely as this has been, I do believe our little games are over. Men, I want them dead and the girl brought to me!' And then he vanished, beaming himself up onto his ship.

Ba'al's men looked a little cowed, and then looked angry, and a gunfight started up - Mitchell meanwhile having been unbound by a triumphant looking Dom - that led them outside into the cold night's air. And away from the still sedated Meaghan in her bed, and Carson, who'd fallen asleep against the bed pane.

* * *

_ **(Quite some time later...)** _

_Why did she always feel like she was waking out of a coma?_

She opened her eyes, registered dully that she had no real idea where she was, but that at least it wasn't Argennos' lab - and then put her hands to the stitches on her abdomen and thought - he's dead. It's my fault. He's dead.

The room she lay in was eerily quiet. The nurses had come and moved her to the same ward as Zelenka, apparently oblivious to the war going on outside. They'd moved Carson too, and sedated him as well. Meaghan struggled to a sitting position and the fact that she could do so without pain obliterating her mind told her that she must have been out for a while, and the meds they used were taking effect already. She remembered vaguely reading somewhere that you were supposed to take it easy after a c-section, that it was after all major surgery... She stared up at the ceiling. That was an Earth reaction. Who knew how little time it would take here.

He's dead. They cut me open again. He's dead.

It was a strange and hollow thought.

The rational part of her brain told her in a fake-hearty voice that this was the best thing that could have happened - told her that this was way she could return to Atlantis, which she couldn't have done with a baby - told her that this way she could continue her life - told her that she'd spent three days terrified out of her mind at the thought of bearing it, and that it was just as well he was gone.

Three days, yes. But the _fourth_...

She didn't think she'd ever felt anything more miraculous than that sudden realisation that his fledgling conciousness was creeping itself out towards her, like tendrils of fine ivy. When she'd smiled and let him in to her mind, he'd been so happy. He'd known who she was - not in a name or image, just colours. But _she'd_ known that he knew who she was. And he'd loved her. Unquestioningly, inexplicably, just loved her because he knew that she was his mother.

She was a mother.

She had the stitches of a caesarean, and her breasts were heavy. Her milk would come in today or tomorrow, if she remembered correctly how it worked.

She was a mother.

And he was dead.

Why was it so quiet? Why had they left her alone with the sleeping men? She wanted to see her son, wanted to hold him. She had a right to touch him, hold him, breath him in!

Anger rose up to take the place of her grief, and she forced her legs from the bed, made it as far as the window in the hallway before collapsing to the floor.

It was a sheet of glass reaching down to the ground, and she pulled herself up a little against it, and stared out at the warring city beyond.

Oh, God.

The whole world had come undone.


	16. Come Together

_ **(Inside the Government Hospital, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

Meaghan sat by the window in the hallway, shaking slightly as she came down off the tranqs, and stared outside. The world really _had _come undone. The building shook gently. All across the skyline gleamed shocks of light, and red flames flickered high into the night sky. She watched a dog fight up above the flames, the metal of small jets glinting in the light of their streams of fire, gleaming - and then the explosion of orange and white as one was hit and hurtled down to the city below.

She'd given birth in hell.

A doctor in a long coat hurried along the hall, heels clicking, then stopped and stared at her sitting on the cold floor in her hospital gown, and demanded, 'What are you doing up, young lady? You've just had surgery.'

Surgery? Yes, that's what she'd been telling herself. Like she'd had her appendix out. She looked blankly up at the woman and said, 'My baby's dead.'

The doctor looked at her, then made her stand up and helped her back to her bed. 'Yes. And you're very lucky for our medicines, or you'd be dead too. Now, not to be heartless, young lady, but you might have noticed there's a war going on out there, and I have people who need my help much more than you do.'

She moved to leave, but Meaghan gripped her wrist with unexpected strength and said fiercely, 'I want to see him.' Wanted to look at him, count his toes, see what colour his eyes were. Do all the normal things when you've just given birth.

Normal. What a joke.

The doctor didn't answer her.

'I want to see him!' she shouted, then winced and put her hand against her stomach as a sudden cramp shot through her.

The doctor unlatched her hand from her wrist and said, 'The bad cramps shouldn't last much longer. They're the contractions of your uterus as it begins the process of returning to its usual size. The first few hours are the worst. I have to tell you, my dear, that even this highly unnaturally quick gestation is still going to have the same repercussions on your body that a normal pregnancy would have had, if not more. You're going to be bleeding for a while, though not so long as you would on Earth, I'd imagine, if you be a good girl and take these meds, one a day.' She passed over a small bottle of pills that she had fished from one of her pockets, and then added, 'It's not too late to put lotion on your scar, if you'd like. But speak now or forever hold your peace.'

Meaghan shook her head. She wanted the scar. 'Why won't you let me see him?' She was sure that she already knew - sure that they would have taken him somewhere, be pulling him apart to see exactly what had gone wrong, be planning the new and improved version. The thought made her sick.

The Sagaran doctor looked at her piercingly. 'You can't see him because I don't know where he's gone. I think a nurse took him already, after all, he was certified dead, I honestly don't know. It really is too chaotic. Now, you're going to have to let me go because there are injured people who need my attention. Do I have to sedate you?'

Meaghan dropped back against the pillows and let the darkness of her thoughts sweep over her, and shut her eyes. He was dead. All that pain, for nothing. And she couldn't even see him.

It was at that point that she thought she remembered vaguely having been under the impression that Dom had been with her.

Which of course was ridiculous. Maybe she had gone mad, and it was all one big hallucination...

* * *

_ **(Outside the Government Hospital, Sagara, Locrux.)** _

Mitchell and Domenic stood with their backs against pressed against the hospital wall. Through the dinge they could just make out the faces of their companions, returned from scouting around the building to pick off as many of Ba'al's men as they could. From their radio contact, they knew that the fourth group had begun a massive operation to take as much from the Ancient lab as they could, but they too had met some armed resistance as some of Ba'al's men - presumably having finished clearing out the Chancellor's own lab - arrived there with the same idea.

Dom's face was flushed - half terrified, half excited - and his whole body raced with adrenalin. Still- 'We shouldn't have just left her there!' he shouted at Mitchell through the dark.

'She's doped up!' came the reply, 'and she's better there than here.'

'What if she wakes?' Dom fired off a round, and there was a cry and a dull thud in the darkness.

'She won't, and even if she does, do you really want her _here_? Now shut up and concentrate on saving your own -' a blaster shot narrowly missed his head, before he finished with an angry shout, 'skin!'

* * *

_ **(Inside.)** _

Meaghan sat up suddenly. A colour. Again, a colour. She felt it. Pale, pale yellow, like the shade of the walls in her mother's kitchen when the summer sun dappled in through the windows. Almost gold.

It was impossible. But she _felt _it.

Ignoring the pain she clasped her hands to her stomach, then pulled her legs off the bed and placed her bare feet on the cold floor.

_Warm, sweet gold_.

The building shook, tipped her off balance, and she bit her tongue while trying to catch herself on the edge of the bed, tasting blood in her mouth. When the shaking stopped - and she didn't really like in the least the groaning the ceiling above her had made, as though all the stone and metal were grinding its teeth in frustration - she pulled her hospital gown around her as best she could, and started slowly but certainly out of the room and down the hall.

She had no idea where she was going. And it was possible that she was completely insane. Actually, genuinely, certifiably _insane_. But then, nobody went through what she'd been through without going a little insane. She could feel it, the disconnection from reality, still bubbling at the base of her skull.

But her bare feet, stinging against the cold floor, continued walking.

_Dead_, she told herself. He's dead. You're being stupid. You felt him die inside you, felt his pain and his terror at the end, and then the nothingness. You _know _he's dead.

She moved down a flight of metal steps, the sharp edges biting into her soft toes. It was dark beneath the hospital. Rows of pipes ran along the walls above her head. The naked bulbs of lights flickered and whirred at her as bombs dropped. A scream from outside and then the building shook again.

She put her hand to a door and pushed it inwards slowly. The sudden light made her blink, almost blinding her - which was why she walked straight into the man who was coming in the other direction, towards her and away from the sarcophagus, the sarcophagus hidden in the base of the hospital, the sarcophagus he had found when he was exploring... He half caught her, awkwardly with one hand, his arms full, and then pulled her up and stared at the state she was in, horrified, 'My God, Monahan, what are you doing down here?'

But she could only focus on the gold. She put one arm around his neck to try and keep herself on her feet, and then circled the other arm around the bundle he held. Her _son_. 'I don't know how you did it, Rodney,' she murmured, 'But thank you -'

She smiled at him, then pulled the towel back gentle to look at her baby's face for the first time.

* * *

_ **(Outside.)** _

It had started to snow. The air whipped dark and cold around them, Sheppard's hair sticking up at all angles even more than usual, and his eyes stinging as snowflakes melted on his lashes. It was bad enough having a gun fight in the middle of the night on an alien planet - he doubted he'd _ever _get really used to that - but to make matters worst, three minutes earlier a particularly loud shriek had ripped through the air, slamming into the wall behind them, and all the lights had flickered out. 'Hey, Mitchell!' he shouted, 'We really gotta think twice before going with plans someone else has thought up. It was a damn stupid idea to start a war on a planet we were still on!'

At least the sudden white blur of snow seemed to have stumped everyone else just as much as it had them, because the barrage of fire had trickled to a halt, and above them the intermittent burr of airborne fire had completely ceased. But it was still dark, and wet, and cold, and they all knew that the break would only be temporary.

Dom slipped between the two Colonels, wiped his sleeve across his face, and asked, 'What exactly was the escape plan again?'

Mitchell glanced at him, 'Dial up the gate and get our sorry butts back home ASAP. Nice shooting, by the way.'

The biologist grinned, 'Thanks. And yet - I had a sinking feeling that that was the plan.'

Sheppard rubbed his P-90 against his hip thoughtfully, 'Guess we didn't take into accounting some idiot dropping a bomb right next to it so as to make it fall over and get covered in rubble...'

'Nope. Guess we didn't.'

Teyla, holding her frozen hands against her clothes, and her face gone red, glanced at the three men and commented with a wry smile, 'I do not believe it was intentional, gentlemen. I cannot imagine that the people of any planet would deliberately put their own gate out of action.'

'You don't say... mind you, it has happened before. Look at Earth.' Daniel's voice was dry.

Mitchell glanced over at the archaeologist where he leant against the wall, P-90 at his feet, tying his bandana around his head to protect his ears as best he could from the tickling, wet snowflakes. Some of the flakes seemed to be more grey than white - Mitchell guessed it was all the smoke and ash in the atmosphere. It was really crazy. He'd seen a lot of bad stuff, but he'd never seen it hit the fan this fast, to this extent. 'So... did anyone have a back-up plan?'

John smirked at him, 'You mean you people here in the little old Milky Way galaxy actually still have back-up plans? Other than shoot real fast and run like hell?'

His friend shrugged, 'Er - no, not really.'

Dom grinned (he was in a relatively good mood since he knew where his sister was, and had been able to vent some tension by shooting at Ba'al's men) and shook his head, 'And you fellas are the ones watching our backs, and keeping us safe from the intergalactic bad guys, right? Please, I'd rather have Chewbacca on the job. Or - or Aeryn Sun.' He paused, and grinned slowly, 'Actually, definitely Aeryn Sun. She's so much better looking and so much less -'

'Hirsute?' finished Daniel from over at the wall, 'You know, I have this friend who looks _just_ like her, if that's your type, and you're _more _than welcome to take her with you when you go.'

Dom glanced at him, and chuckled, 'Really?'

But at that moment the wind rose again, blasting the snow into a horizontal slant, and a sudden onslaught of weapons' fire rushed in at them as they all swung back in concentration, grabbing weapons and shelter, and returned fire, banter pushed right out of their minds. Then Mitchell swore suddenly, and Sheppard did the same a few seconds later, and yelled, 'I'm out!'

'Me too!'

Dom, who'd been more tentative at the start, rattled off a few more rounds, and then came to an equally depressing halt.

'Damn McKay for having my sidearm!' yelled Mitchell. Then there was a click, and a rattle in an eerie sudden silence as a grenade landed in their midst. 'We're so _screwed_!' he yelled, as they all took one look at it and started to run -------

\-------- and found themselves suddenly minus snow, and wind, and night sky. Also minus the grenade, which was incredibly convenient. Found themselves, in fact, coming to a very awkward standstill in the cargo bay of a X-304. There was one final burst of fire as the few of Ba'al's men that had been beamed up with them realised the sudden predicament they found themselves in, but that didn't last long.

'Sam!' shouted Mitchell in delight, wiping melted snow from his eyebrows and slapping the blonde woman enthusiastically on the back with such gusto that her head wobbled. 'Sam, you brilliant, extraordinary thing, you! Incredible timing as always! Lovely to see you!'

'Nice to see you too, Colonel,' she commented with one of her quick half-grins, and then nodded in greeting to Teal'c and the others - including a very wet and very shaking looking Gregori, who Teal'c had taken under one of his arms to prevent the pitiful thing from getting shot by mistake.

'What's with beaming up the baddies?'

She shrugged, 'You know the Atlantis people haven't got locator chips like we do. So we found you three, and kind of did the rough vicinity around you. Any idea where McKay, Monahan and Zelenka are so we can beam them up too?'

He explained quickly that Zelenka, Monahan, and _Beckett_ were all in one of the wards on the ground floor, and she radioed that information through to Agnarr - the Asgard - and added that they may as well be sent straight through the infirmary. Then she clicked the radio off without bothering to listen to the mutter at the other end, and when Mitchell raised his eyebrows, explained, 'Agnarr has - er - attitude. But anyway, so you don't know where McKay is?' She'd already decided that she'd bring up the whole why-Beckett-isn't-dead question at a later date.

He shrugged. 'I honestly have no idea. I haven't seen him since -' he paused, 'Let's just say it's a _really _long story.' He dumped his unnecessary gear on the ground for some tech or other to pick up, rolled his shoulders thankful to be free of the weight, and said, 'So. This is the new 304.'

She beamed proudly, 'Sure is. Welcome to the _Iliad_.'

He glanced at her as they walked down a corridor, the others traipsing behind and talking amongst themselves - mostly trying to explain to Gregori and Dom where they were and how it all functioned - and asked, 'Mighty convenient of you to just _happen _to be here to pick us up. I don't remember any 304s in the President's plans, leastways from what Sheppard told me.'

She chuckled, 'General Landry suggested that Colonel Cautley might like to take her for a spin, just to check everything was in working order. He added that if on the off-chance we should _happen_ to end up in the neighbourhood, and should for some reason get the _suspicion_ that our people might be in a little bit of a fix, then we would of course be morally _obliged_ to help out. He said he was _sure _the President would understand.'

Mitchell shook his head happily. And it was on that wave of good-humour that an idea suddenly hit him. 'I know how to find McKay! You can lock onto a specific radio frequency, right?' He pulled the altered Sagaran translator/radio from behind his ear, and said, 'McKay should have one just like this, on the same frequency - presuming he hasn't fiddled with it.' She took it from him, giving it a curious look, and by then they had reached the Bridge.

Colonel Cautley - a middle aged man with a short-cut grey hair - said, by way of greeting, 'I'm sorry, Colonel Carter, but only two of the people turned up. No girl.'

She sighed, 'Well, at least let's have a go at finding McKay.' She handed the device to the Asgard, who gave it a barely-even-interested look, then half-shrugged, made some adjustments to the panels in front of him, before saying curtly, 'Close to that frequency there are _three_ life signs.' He looked a little cranky that they couldn't get their acts together better.

Cautley shrugged, 'Bring 'em all up, Agnarr. To the ready, people.' Almost everyone in the Bridge - including all those who had been on the planet moments earlier and whose weapons were actually completely useless - pulled out a gun at his words, and pointed it in the direction that Agnarr was looking.

But they really needn't have bothered.

Doctor Rodney McKay materialised before them, his face etched with discomfort and unhappy concern. The damned lights had gone out in the hospital, he was holding a baby despite not having ever had the least desire to hold babies, and now suddenly he was somewhere else. Monahan hung heavily against him - he'd had no idea that someone so short could be _such _a dead weight - dressed in a slightly bloody hospital gown, a bottle of pills clutched inexplicably in her hand, and her face glowing like the _Beata Beatrix_ (not that the name of the painting would have meant the slightest thing to Rodney), as she stared at the bundle he held in one arm while grasping at her awkwardly with the other. He looked at the entire population of the Bridge staring at them, took in immediately where they must be and what must have happened, and snapped furiously, 'Well don't all rush in to help me or anything. Have a nice long gawk first, why don't you?'

Dom darted forwards and disentangled his sister from the Canadian, even as her eyes shut and her knees gave way beneath her. Her falling, and the fumblings of Dom to catch her, made the towel fall back even further and revealed to everyone a very small, very pink infant. Sheppard blinked, and said with a laugh and a rather marked-lack of forethought, 'Wo, McKay, I knew you liked her, buddy, but that's some _seriously_ quick action.'

It was probably just as well that Dom was too concerned about his sister to notice the comment, but as it was, McKay shot him a look primed to kill, then shoved the baby into his arms with such force that it's face crumpled and it let out a very small, plaintiff wail. 'For your information, apparently it's Carson's.'

And then he stomped out of the bridge and out of sight.

* * *

Colonel Cautley ordered the ship to be put into hyperdrive and head home, now that everyone had been accounted for, and then asked, more than a little baffled, 'Would anyone care to share with me why my battlecruiser suddenly needs a _Baby-On-Board _sign on the bumper?' He got a lot of blank looks, because everybody who had even a vague idea were ignoring him, since they'd all gone to Sheppard's side to stare a little wide-eyed at the infant. In the end, Cautley just shrugged and said to Domenic, 'Right, well, since you already have hold of her, can you please take the young woman to the infirmary? Lieutenant Strebbing, show him the way. And the baby as well please... Colonels - I'd like to be debriefed, if you'd be so good.' He watched as Ronon moved over to give Dom a hand with his sister's dead weight, while Teyla carefully took the baby from Sheppard's arms - who was almost reluctant to let the cute little guy go. But the moment she held it, the child let out a god-awful scream that made his other wail look like a whimper. There was a momentary scramble as Ronon took Meaghan, and Dom took the baby from a rather distressed looking Teyla, who sighed in resignation as the child shut-up the moment Dom held it, and said, 'Perhaps this infant can sense my wraith genes?' But still, she followed the others towards the door.

Meanwhile, Samantha Carter was suddenly shaking her head, 'Actually, sir, I think that's going to have to wait a while yet. Er - not the infirmary part,' she added quickly, as Teyla and Dom had paused at the door, 'I mean the debriefing. We have a slight problem.' Then she paused, glanced back at the panel she'd been working on and added, 'Actually, make that a few slight problems.'

A whole bunch of cheery little lights had started to blink where they had absolutely no right at all to be blinking.


	17. All Together Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CO-AUTHORED with my brother, [MalagBaal](http://www.fanfiction.net/~malagbaal). He wrote all the good bits, lol.

** _(On the Iliad.)_ **

The _Iliad _glided smoothly through an endless, spiralling hyperspace tunnel, or at least, so it would have seemed from an external viewpoint - if such a thing were even possible. In reality, since that moment when Sam had noticed a few blinking lights, half the ship had gone into mischief-mode, in particular the hyperdrive. At first, regular ship's technicians had been put on the job, since Cautley was simply determined to have his debriefing and find out what the hell had gone on down on Locrux. But finally even he had come to realise that at the rate they were going, they would return to Earth faster if they walked, and so he'd called the debriefing to an end, and ordered Sam to go and do what she did best. Of course, by that he'd _meant_ "fix the goddamn ship"- but in reality, what it translated to in practice was more like "bicker with the Asgard"... ...

... ... Sam shook her head and looked tired, 'Look, Agnarr, I don't care what your readings say, this thing's still only going at thirty percent of it's capacity...'

He blinked at her in that impervious way that Asgards do, and muttered, 'Impossible...'

She ran her hand back through her hair, 'I think it's something to do with the installation.'

His blinking sped up. 'It was installed by _Asgard_ technicians; obviously it isn't the installation at fault. Now, if it had been installed by humansthen, yes, that would be the obvious explanation. But it wasn't, so it isn't.'

Sam bit back a groan, her cranky response - after all, even her patience had a limit - interrupted by a voice suddenly coming from a corner over the by the door, as a certain Colonel asked cheerily, ‘So how's it coming along?'

_Ah, Mitchell's woken up again. Nice for some people._ Sam shot a look in the direction his voice had come from, 'Not all that well, frankly. Power's being obstructed somewhere. It's just not getting effectively to the hyperdrive. We didn't notice anything on the trip from Earth to Locrux, so perhaps the fault was just waiting to happen.' Her voice was somewhat muffled to his ears, because she was speaking half-hidden behind a panel of crystals (which to Mitchell all looked much the same), and then she added curtly, 'And Agnarr and I aren't exactly meshing well.' She shot the Asgard a dirty look, who just blinked at her as though to imply that such petty things were beneath him, before continuing 'We've having a slight professional disagreement about where the fault lies. He's working on the human systems, because he won't accept there could possibly be something wrong with the Asgard-installed components.'

Mitchell stood up, stretched, and unfurled a boyish grin in their direction, 'So... let me get this straight, the expert on human tech is working on the Asgard stuff, while the expert on the Asgard tech is working on the human stuff - right?'

Carter nodded, brow furrowed and too deeply distracted by her work to get the irony of it.

'That makes no sense, at all.' He rolled his eyes slightly, and then wandered out of the hyperdrive room, up towards the Bridge. He went grinning all the way, because the sound of an irritated Asgard muttering about primitive systems and know-it-all humans was just too funny, as far as he was concerned, and it followed him all the way along the corridor. Still, he probably should have docked the grin a fraction before actually _entering_ the Bridge, because Colonel Cautley took one look at it and gave him a deeply suspicious look. It had taken barely half an hour for the pair of them to start rubbing just a _little _the wrong way - primarily caused by the leader of SG-1's habit of casually slinging his feet onto whatever surface was nearest his seat, and dozing off. That was why he'd gone to watch the repairs on the hyperdrive in the first place, so he could nap without getting glares from half the Bridge's crew because they thought he had his boots on some precious panel. Which was perhaps the truth, but that wasn't really the point. And besides, that whole 'would you do that at your mother's place?' question didn't really work on Cameron. After all - he did. Now, his grandmother's house... that was a _whole _different basket of lobsters...

* * *

** _(Ba'al's Ha'tak...)_ **

Ba'al was in a bad mood.

He considered himself to be a rational being. He didn't object too vociferously when the universe dealt him an unfair hand. But to have found out, on the return of the men he'd left on the planet, that not only had the tau'ri vanished, but that they'd taken the woman with them, had made his blood boil. Incompetent fools!

At least he had the Chancellor and all the data, and could start again but - but he was _annoyed_, underlying it all, that the baby had died. A child with such power - grown rapidly to manhood... When he had such a body as a host, he would rival even what the Ori had been. He could remember what it was like to be using the body of the Orici...

He smiled in smooth fury, gripped his hands lightly against the arms of his throne, and forced his calm. The Ancient Sphere had given him many pleasant new toys. And he intended on using them. Now that he had located the tau'ri ship on its predictable route back home, he was going to damage it. He'd been thwarted by the universe, and thwarted by them, and someone had to pay. And since it was hard to punish the universe, it seemed that the tau'ri would have to suffice...

He raised his hand to give his first order...

* * *

** _(On the Iliad.)_ **

As Mitchell stepped into the Bridge the whole ship shuddered, and that endless blue tunnel seemed to tremble. Then, suddenly, the blue was replaced by the black of space. They had dropped out of hyperdrive all together.

'What _now_?' demanded Colonel Cautley, 'Get Carter and that Asgard online!'

But before anyone could so much as touch a switch, Sam's voice came in over the radio, demanding just as hotly, 'What's going on up there? The whole place just went haywire.' In the background, Cam could make out a small Asgard voice mumbling, 'Perhaps Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell put his heels on the subspace engine controls again?'

Sheppard - who was standing around looking bored because he wasn't allowed to go visit _anyone _in the infirmary (not even back-from-the-dead Carson) - shot his friend a grin across the room. But then his face fell as he looked out the main view-port, and saw a sector of space shimmering, and a ship appear. 'People,' he exclaimed in a loud voice, 'We've got company!'

At the same time, in a more controlled voice, a technician was saying, 'Colonel Cautley, sir, we're picking up a Ha'tak class mother-ship on our scanners...'

'I can already see it, Harris. Full power to the forward shield, and ready all rail guns!' All around the ship alarms had begun to sound, and crew rushed to ready the ship in case of battle. Cautely had had enough of the debriefing with Sheppard and Mitchell to have a fair guess at who this was going to be, and figured that it wasn't going to be a neighbourly house call.

'We're receiving a transmission from the mother-ship,' called the coms officer.

'Put it on screens,' replied the Colonel, 'Audio and visual, please.'

The screen flickered, gained colour and then became defined, allowing Ba'al's face to grin at them in an unpleasantly cheery way. 'Vessel of the Tau'ri, surrender or be destroyed.'

Sheppard and Mitchell exchanged a glance, before Mitchell answered with a grin, 'Hiya, Ba'al. Fancy meeting you here.'

'Cameron - the two of us, together again, so soon, what a pleasure.'

Sheppard raised his eyebrows, 'Hey, you're on _first _name terms. Why do _I_ never get to do that with _my_ bad guys? I gotta _make-up_ _their _damned names first.'

Mitchell shrugged, 'Yeah well, different galaxy, different rules. My boy Ba'al and I, we go long back. Usually at gunpoint, of course.'

Ba'al seemed to be following the conversation with amusement, but Cautley was not in the least bit impressed with the banter. He stepped in front of the two larrikin Colonels and said abruptly, 'My name is Colonel William Cautley. You can't possibly expect to win if you're planning on taking us on, Ba'al. One-on-one the _Iliad _is far superior to a Goa'uld mother-ship, a fact you must know.'

Ba'al smiled warmly, 'Ah, but who said anything about one-on-one? Oh, how foolish of me, I forgot - the cloaks.' He waved a hand languidly, then slouched back into his throne-like chair. Around the _Iliad_ another five Ha'tak appeared. Ba'al, apparently, had been busy, and now was playing for keeps. 'You are out-numbered, Colonel Cautley. Anyway, forget what I said about surrendering. I am removing that option. It's about time somebody proved that your ships, however impressive, are not invincible. And I have some new toys to play with, thanks to this Ancient Sphere that the Chancellor so very kindly gave me access to...'

The Ha'tak flagship opened fire and the first barrage splashed over the X-304's shields like rain. It caused no damage to the ship itself, but dropped shields to seventy percent. Cautley turned, obviously swearing like a trooper in the privacy of his own head, and shouted, 'I want this ship back in hyperspace, _now_!'

At that point Sam came running in, and shook her head at him. ‘No can do, sir, it's not working.'

‘What do you mean, it's not working?'

'I mean, it's not working, sir.' There were days when Samantha Carter got sick and tired of the repertoire of stupid questions that people who outranked her insisted on tossing in her direction.

He was furious. 'This ship was inspected with a fine-toothed comb! The small fluctuations I could deal with - but to have it drop out of hyperdrive like it has done...! This is inexcusable. And it was given a green-light - by you, I might add!'

Sam understood his anger well enough, after all, he was right, but still, he didn't have to go shouting it out in front of the whole crew and - she glanced at the screen - a smirking Ba'al as well. She put a hand on her hip, 'This isn't a malfunction in the ship, _sir. _The flagship Ha'tak is generating some kind of field that neither Agnarr nor I have ever seen before. It's stopping us from jumping into hyperspace, and I have a feeling it was that that knocked us _out _of hyperspace in the first place.'

'She's right, Colonel,' put in another crew member, his brows drawn close together in concentration, 'Something's stopping us from jumping.'

'Well, we're gonna put up a hell of a fight then, and buy you techs some time!' exclaimed Mitchell suddenly, 'Focus the forward rail guns on that lead mother-ship, veer left and then concentrate the remaining firepower on the left side mother-ship.'

There was a sudden silence in the Bridge, and Cautley turned on him and said coldly, 'I thought I was in command here, Colonel.'

Mitchell blinked in horrified realisation at what he'd just done, but before he could reply, Sheppard stretched insolently and said, 'Yes sir, but to be in command you actually have to _give _commands, sir.'

For a second the _Iliad's _commanding officer looked on the verge of explosion, but then he bit his lip and turned his attention back to the battle. Now was not the time. The next wave of energy weapons hit, now from all angles. Sparks shot from the ceiling of the bridge, and he started shouting orders loudly. And at the words 'scramble all fighters' he shot them a meaningful look, and both Sheppard and Mitchell nodded and ran to the F-302 bay.

* * *

** _(Meanwhile...) _ **

McKay didn't know why he'd done it.

He walked down the corridors of the _Iliad_, completely and utterly oblivious to the fact that they were in the middle of a battle with Ba'al, ignoring with long-honed skill the concerned faces of busy people rushing past him. And for once he didn't have his radio on - leastways not his standard one - and so had no idea that Sam was cursing him for being a nuisance and damning him for going AWOL the _one _time that she could actually use his help.

He _really _didn't know why he'd done it.

He hated it when he got snared by some random do-gooding impulse, because he knew it would always end up just like this one had - with everyone staring at him with big eyes like they were amazed to discover that he had a conscience. Why did they always have to look so damned shocked about it? Okay, so maybe he wasn't the poster-child for charitable deeds - maybe he wasn't wired up like the Sheppards and Mitchells of the universe - but that didn't mean he didn't have feelings.

Still, he didn't know why he'd done it.

The little squidget of a thing had been dead. Dead as in, 'time-of-death-noted-nurse', kind of dead. McKay wasn't sure that it wouldn't have been better off dead, now that he had time to think about it. He had no doubts whatsoever that it would be poked and prodded by the IOC and the SGC and God only knew what other acronyms - just as much, if not more, than if Argennos or Ba'al had had it. Still, although Rodney hadn't quite worked out what they'd wanted with a baby in the first place, he a had pretty fair suspicion it would be connected with hosting. Seemed like a given, as far as McKay was concerned - after all, Wraith wanted food, and Goa'uld wanted hosts. That was just how the world worked, wasn't it?

But then there was the question - would Monahan _really _be pleased? Sure, she'd been crying because she thought it was dead, and she'd looked pretty happy to see it was alive. But maybe that was just some kind of hormonal reaction (he was pretty sure that there were_ lots _of hormones involved in childbirth, although, he didn't know if that counted with a c-section?) - or because of the drugs (after all, he _knew _there were drugs involved!). Maybe in the cold, hard light of day when the tranq wore off, she would hate him for what he'd done, wish he'd left well enough alone.

She wouldn't be able to keep working in Atlantis. Women were supposed to be on contraceptives there, and the one who _had _gotten pregnant and refused a termination (it had been the talk of the city, so much so that even he'd managed to hear about it) had been sent home before she could blink.

Come to think of it - he was even dubious if they'd let the linguist keep the kid to bring up normally. Hadn't somebody said something about advancement?

McKay stopped without warning, not noticing the pair of technicians who almost rammed into him, and stared blankly at a wall. He realised he had no idea where he was - quite literally - he didn't even know what the ship was called - and then said aloud in sudden shock, 'Oh my God. I've ruined her life. I've completely and utterly ruined her life.'

He hadn't really expected an answer.

So he started slightly when Calpurnia Lowell smirked at him from the chair she slouched in, through the open door of the cargo bay she'd been given as a weapons-testing lab, and said jauntily, 'Good for you! Personally, I wouldn't have thought you had it in you. But if you've ruined some girl's life - well, that makes you officially a _real _man. Congratulations.'

He turned and blinked twice. 'And who are you supposed to be?'

She shrugged. 'Only a member of your department for the last, oh, handful of years. But don't worry, I take it as a compliment that you don't know me. The name's Lowell, if you're interested.'

Lowell? He didn't remember any Lowell. Obviously she screwed up relatively less often than everyone else. He tried to put Monahan and her baby out of his mind, focused on the woman in front of him and demanded, 'And what are you doing here then?'

'When Colonel Sheppard came back to Earth, he brought along some nice big old guns I'd found in the Ancient Area 51. Wants me to get them operational. And good old General Landry preferred me here, rather than in his precious SGC.'

McKay wasn't really listening to what she was saying. Work. Work was good. He nodded curtly, 'Fine. Well, come on then, show me what we're talking about.'

She clacked her gum loudly. Damned biggest nuisance about being in space was the no smoking rule. And _this _time they'd actually searched both her and her bags. She'd bought so much gum she'd probably ensured the damn company would stay in business for the next three years. Now she stood up, flesh wobbling indolently, and nodded, 'You're the boss.'

* * *

Away from them, the battle continued, though it was obvious that the _Iliad _was losing. And all the while Carter and Agnarr argued about how to best counter the anti-hyperdrive field. They had been at it for a while, the ship starting to suffer badly under the onslaught, when Sam suddenly shouted, 'We know it's being projected from Ba'al's flagship, right?'

Blinking Asgard eyes. 'Correct'

'So, in theory we should be able to knock it out by destroying the ship, or by neutralising it's effects somehow.'

'Indeed.'

'If the system's rigged to the outside of the ship, which I'm presuming it is - would a Mark-9 Naquadah-enhanced Gatebuster be enough to knock the system offline, even through the shields, if we beamed it directly in front of where the system is?'

'I believe it is possible, but highly unlikely, that the shock wave from the blast would take the field generator offline for perhaps...' The Asgard paused, thinking, then finished, 'Some several seconds.'

She grinned enthusiastically, 'That's exactly what I thought.'

Harris, the crew member who had spotted Ba'al at the same time as Sheppard, said suddenly in a loud voice, 'Colonel Cautley, we've detected a formation of Goa'uld gliders massing around the Ha'tak beneath us.'

The Colonel looked angry. He was _not _impressed at how his brand new ship was being treated. 'Send the F-302 squad to meet them, and cover with two of our rail guns...' He stood, hands behind his back, looking for all the world like some supreme naval commander from the 1800s, and watched as the yellow beams of the rail guns streamed out towards Ba'al's flagship, which by now had moved almost to their right. The rail-gun fire was complemented by a full return fire from the mother-ship's weaponry. He shook his head and demanded, 'Has that flagship taken _any_ damage yet?'

It seemed like the rail guns were needles trying to chip away a mountain. 'No, sir, from what we can tell they haven't even lost any of their shield strength - it seems to have had some kind of modifications... And our shields down to fifteen percent.'

'What about the other ha'taks?'

But to his deep satisfaction, an answer came in the form of the ships to their left exploding in a blast of colour. It took all his self control, all his years of training, to keep the exultant _yes!_ inside his mind, locked from the view of his crew. Then the ship above them careened to one side, caught like an injured bird, and also clearly out of the fight. They could do this yet, by the skin of their teeth, but by God they could do it! 'Concentrate the last of your firepower on the ships behind, below and to the right of us -' there was obviously no point attempting to hit Ba'al's flagship, it was nothing but a waste of fire power, '- all we're doing here is buying time, people, so come on, let's invest all we've got!'

'Colonel!' Carter's voice cracked into his mind, rushing at him from the radio, 'Agnarr is about to attempt to knock out the system stopping us from jumping to hyperspace.'

This time his _yes! _slipped out just a small bit, coming like a powerful hiss between his teeth. He punched his hands against his sides, answered, 'Go ahead, Colonel! Recalling all 302s to the _Iliad_! Military thrust away from the flagship!'

Carter's voice came again, curt, hesitant, enthusiastic, all muddled up in one, as the same emotions that ran through Cautley, the same emotions that ran through everyone on the Bridge, pulsed through her veins, 'Sir, be ready to jumped into hyperdrive in _9,8,7...'_

There'd be a frenzy in the fighter bay, Cautley knew, and his eyes watched the screen that counted his pilots in.

Sam's voice, _'4,3,2...' _

The last F-302 hit the deck.

'Now!'

There was a bright flash, and a sort of disembodied shudder, and the _Iliad _launched into hyperspace.

_'Yes!' _Cautley's hands relaxed out in his delight, and he stared out the main viewport with bright eyes. That blue tunnel had returned.

* * *

** _(Ba'al's Ha'tak.)_ **

To say Ba'al was not happy was an extreme understatement. He had already been angry. Not only had his flagship lost the clever new toy from the Sphere, but his fleet had been disrupted - he'd lost one ha'tak, a second was grievously damaged, and half a squadron of gliders had dissolved into fragments in space. The tau'ri were starting to push his irritation limits.

Although... fine, so they had the girl, but what good would that do them? He doubted, knowing their petty, squeamish protestations of morality, that they would bring themselves to experiment with her as he would have, so she would bring them no great advantage. And he _did _have the Chancellor and all his research, and most of the DNA samples. And the Sphere.

He would simply start over... He _would _get his advanced host.


	18. Little Child

** _(08 December, after the battle, on the Iliad, en route to Earth.)_ **

Domenic stared at his sister through the glass. She was in bed, dressed now in a regular Earth hospital gown, and was actually, honest-to-God breastfeeding a baby. _Her _baby. She looked completely wasted, and was half laying back on the pillows, her hair pulled back tightly, and looking in desperate need for a wash. He watched as a nurse gently put some more pillows under the arm that held the baby, as though concerned that the girl was going to fall asleep on the job and let him slip from her hands.

Suddenly, he couldn't look any more, and he turned and exclaimed, 'I don't get it!'

Doctor Murray rubbed his moustache, the wedding ring on his hand glinting, and exchanged a glance with Mitchell. 'I thought my explanation was quite reasonable.'

The young man's lips twitched beneath his red beard, 'That'sthe _problem_. How can you _be _so reasonable? She's just had a pregnancy compressed to a little under four days, a caesarean, is popping magic pills, and now there's this baby in her arms that was apparently dead but is now alive again! And all you lot do is stand there and make interested 'mmm' noises!'

Mitchell cleared his throat. 'Well - it isn't the first time we've dealt with this sort of thing.'

Dom couldn't help himself. His jaw actually dropped. 'I beg your pardon? You're telling me that alien impregnation, accelerated gestation, and resurrection from the dead are par for the course around here?' Sure, they'd said something about Daniel Jackson, but he hadn't read the archaeologist's file that closely - eagerly looking for Meaghan's at that point still - and had half thought they'd been joking.

The Air Force man shrugged, 'The first not sooo much, but the resurrection thing's old hat. Look at it this way - at least her baby has a human father.'

'I - you - what - what kind of hell lives do you people lead?!' He exclaimed again. But this time, it came out a little deflated, and he sat down with a hard thud on a bench to contemplate the enormity of this bizarre new world he found himself thrust into. The Doctor looked at him, concerned, but Mitchell just shrugged. 'Don't worry - that's how they all react at the start...'

* * *

** _(09 December, on the Iliad, en route to Earth.)_ **

The doctors had left her alone through the night, in theory so that she and the baby could sleep. And she had _sort _of slept, the best anyone could after what she'd been through, with horrible images playing on eternal loop behind her eyelids. She kept jerking away, struggling to free herself from the nightmares, and leaning out of bed to peer into the makeshift cot (after all, who had expected a newborn on a X-304?) to check that her son really did exist. Because if he existed, then somehow that made it all okay...

Her cousin, Stella, had told her once that after the twins had been born, she and her husband had kept getting up in the night to check that they were still breathing. At least Meaghan didn't have to do that. The colours of her baby's mind as he drifted between sleep and awake - pulled along into the tide of her nightmares, since the bond worked both ways - slid continuously through the base of her brain. Which, of course, made checking his _existence_ even more unhinged. But then, after what she'd been though, she was shocked at how centred she felt, and kept wondering when the break down was going to hit her.

The probing had begun after breakfast. Doctor Murray had entered her room with a purposeful stride and explained that although they wouldn't reach Earth until the day-after-tomorrow, the SGC had been brought up to date with events and had requested that both mother and child undergo a thorough medical exam. She'd pulled herself upright in her bed, glanced at the sleeping baby and then - swallowing down all her instinctive responses - nodded her head in a resigned way. After all, it wasn't likely he was really going to give her a choice.

And so had begun a veritable barrage of tests. Those directed at her were basically demeaning and involved both an unpleasant quantity of cold metal and poking fingers in rubber gloves. The tests on the baby were admittedly less invasive, though she'd cringed at the amount of blood they'd taken. To Doctor Murray's annoyance she'd refused blankly to have the boy taken from her presence, a little paranoid that they would start pulling him apart to see what made him tick (if she shut her eyes, images of Carson would rise up...)

Still. If she'd irritated the doctor, then she'd more than made up for it by the bottle of pills she'd brought back from Locrux. Murray had requested that she take them as advised by the Sagaran who had given them to her, so that they could see the side effects. After all, a pill that could increase the speed a woman's body pulled itself back into regular order after childbirth would have phenomenal commercial potential...

The tests had continued into the afternoon, and then they had finally left her in peace - and allowed her to have visitors. The first had been Dom - he must have been standing right at the door, waiting. She'd yelled out his name in delight, so loudly that the baby had blinked wildly with its blue eyes, and then exclaimed, 'So it really _was _you - how the hell did you get here, Dom? And - what happened to your face?'

It was a few days since he'd been with Ba'al now, and the bruises had started to go an unpleasant mix of browns and greens as they healed. He shrugged, and came a little awkwardly to the edge of her bed and stood looking at the infant she held - his nephew, he supposed. 'Long story, Meggles. Let's just say I got myself into a bit of a mess and ended up playing with the SGC - nice employers you got yourself, by the way. I'll tell you the whole thing but - first - Meaghan - are you honestly happy about...?' He trailed off, and scratched his beard uncomfortably.

She shot him one of her looks. 'Domenic. Was I _ever _any good at pretending to be happy when I wasn't?'

He shook his head slowly, and then sat cautiously on the edge of her bed. She had her legs out straight before her, and had lain the baby in the valley that they made. Obviously, there hadn't been any baby clothes on the _Iliad_ anymore than there'd been a cot, but makeshift nappies had been produced, and someone with a deft had at needle and thread had sewn him up a little jumpsuit from a blue USAF t-shirt. It was one of the smaller ironies in the whole chaotic mess that her life had become, that the first item of clothing worn by her firstborn would be a military uniform.

The baby blinked at him, and Dom said, 'I guess me telling you that I find this weird beyond comprehension is stating the obvious, and I suppose it pales in comparison to how you must feel.'

She actually laughed, 'No kidding. There's a whole rack of stuff about the after effects of childbirth that nobody ever mentions and this has been one _helluva_ unexpected crash course.' Then she paused, one had stroking the side of the baby's head, and added softly, 'But I know that's not what you mean. What happened on Locrux - I - I'm not sure that I'll be able to sleep without it playing through my mind, not for quite some time, but - I know you won't believe me, Dom, but - but I got out alive, and Rodn- everyone else - got out alive, and Dom - this little fella is so beautiful. I can't explain how I feel even to myself. I don't doubt that I need my head read, but - I just feel like it worked out okay, you know? Or at least, better than it could have.'

He was silent, because the fact was, she was right - he _didn't _know. He couldn't understand how she could possibly lay there and look happy. If he found the bastard who'd done it to her, knowing what he knew now, all the politics in the world wouldn't stop him from ripping him limb from limb. But - however the hell she was doing it, he wasn't going to make her miserable just because he thought she should be. So he sighed, and reached out and patted the little tyke's rounded belly. He really _was _beautiful, and suddenly he grinned at Dom - a great, gummy smile. Dom laughed, 'Hey, he's quick. It took Stella's brats a good month and a half to pull off a bonzer beam like that. And - he's got the Monahan nose, I reckon.' Then he glanced at his sister sideways and said, 'Mum'd love him.'

Just a moment's silence, then, 'Yeah. I know.'

'You picked out a name?' he asked quickly, in case he'd gone and made her miserable after all.

She smiled and nodded. 'The little man and I had that discussion before all those damned tests started, didn't we, little pickle?' The kid grinned again, while Meaghan looked at Dom, as though for approval, and finished, 'We decided on Blake.'

Since Dom wasn't entirely certain if she was joking or not about it being a mutual process, and for the moment he really wasn't sure he wanted to know, he just repeated simply, 'Blake?' Trying it out, seeing how it rolled off the tongue, 'Blake Monahan?'

She nodded again.

He slipped a finger into a tiny hand and said, 'Blake Monahan, pleased to meet you. I'm your Uncle Dom.' After all, if _she _were happy...? But then suddenly he remembered something that he simply had to ask, and did so, without looking at her, 'So - the father-?'

The door of the room shut loudly, and a Scottish voice said, 'Aye. That'd be me, as I understand it. Though Murray's got a paternity test going if you'd care to peruse it when he gets around to finishing it.' The Scotsman stood a little uncomfortably in the doorway, and when Dom glanced from the doctor to his sister, she had a disconcerted look on her own face for the first time.

'Not the One, I take it?' he whispered.

She just glared him, and said, ' Carson - you can come in.' He nodded, then sat himself down on the other side of her bed.

' Carson, meet Blake. Blake meet-' she paused. The role that he had played had been so deeply artificial that it refused to really lodge in her brain.

Doctor Beckett smiled at her slightly and said, 'It's okay, love, I know I'm his Dad. It's just - a bit sudden like.' He was studying the baby intently, and then said quietly, 'Hello there, little Blake.' It was obvious that he was trying to see how much, if any, his features could be found in the baby. One of the nurses had told him that the infant was the spitting image of him, but he couldn't see it personally. Meaghan watched him watching. She could only try to imagine how surreal it must be for _him_. She at least had had the farce of a pregnancy to try and make her feel like Blake's mother, and then there was the bond that they had, the way that her son's emotions reflected themselves in her mind. She knew, that Blakeknew, that she was his mother. But Carson - there seemed to be no special bond between them, except for the fondness that the child was already showing for people with the gene over people without it. But there had been even less reaction to his arrival than there had been to Dom's. Perhaps Blake was picking up _her _feelings about people...?

'His eyes are blue, like yours,' she said finally.

Carson smiled, 'Aye, but lots of little Caucasian babies start with blue eyes. They could end up-' he glanced at her, '-um, hazelly brown, like yours, yet.'

Oh. Yes. Of course. She'd forgotten that. To be honest, she didn't know very much about newborns. Not that Blake had been bothered by anything she'd done so far. Still, Carson didn't seem to notice her embarrassment, because was already looking at Dom, and saying, 'I've never seen anything like it.'

She wrinkled her nose quizzically, ' Carson - granted he's the most beautiful baby in the world, obviously - but - he is just a baby.'

'No, not him - _you_. A day or so ago you were a basket case, my dear, and now just look at you. Anyone would think you'd just had the wee bairn after years of trying.

She smiled wryly, 'I can see I'm going to get pretty sick of that observation. I just - he just feels _right_. It's like - it's like he makes it all worth it. I don't know.'

'I'm not criticising you, love.'

'I know. Sorry.'

He continued to look down at Blake, who blinked right back at him, and then said, 'You know, my old mum would be over the moon to have finally gotten a grandchild.' He seemed to be talking to himself more than anything else, as though he'd forgotten that Meaghan and Domenic were there. She looked at him and said softly, 'Will you tell her, your mum?'

'I don't see as how I could. And it's not like we'll even be in the same galaxy.'

She stared at him, 'You seriously think they'll let me go back to Atlantis?'

He looked surprised, finally turned his attention fully on her, then shook his head, 'No, I suppose not, sorry, I wasn't thinking. But still, I'm not sure-'

'I know. I'm still trying to work out what to tell _my _mother. Some story I suppose, though it'll a complicated one no doubt. And she'll be devastated that I'm not married.'

Domenic shifted uncomfortably in the sudden silence that followed her comment, then stood up and said, 'Er - I'm going to go find my book.' And he hurried out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Carson rubbed a hand across his face, a little tired, and said, 'Aye. I had you pinned down as the kind of lass who'd be married afore she had little ones, despite all your talk. I-'

Her eyes opened wide in sudden amazement, 'Carson Beckett, that was _not_ me hinting that you ought marry me! I - yes - sure - I always planned on something different. But what the Chancellor did to me - did to _us_ \- you know, you've been just as wronged as I have - and - oh, for God's sake, Carson, I'm not going to make you _marry _me!' Her brains moved rapidly, and she put her hand on his arm, 'Don't get me wrong. You'd be a helluva catch. Half the female population in Atlantis would jump at the chance. But - I don't _love _you, and you don't love me for that matter. Morals and principles are only so much use, you know.'

He grinned at her, obviously relieved. Wow. He really was that much of a gentleman that he would have married her out of some sense of obligation. She almost wondered if she was mad not taking the chance. Now he was looking at the baby again, and said, 'I just don't want to feel like I'm doing you or the bairn an injustice.'

She shook her head, not sure what to say to that. Then, after a few seconds suggested, 'You can hold him, if you'd like.'

He grinned again, and with the easy familiarity of a doctor he scooped the little fellow into his arms and inspected him a bit more. Blake, finding a new face so close, had a mind white with intense concentration. 'You know,' said the Scot thoughtfully, 'He _is _a pretty little chappie. Big for his age, and very forward - he _was _smiling when I came in, wasn't he? - but pretty.' And then he froze, unexpected horror on his face, and said, 'Holy crap.'

She stared at him, 'What?'

_'Big for his age...'_ he repeated to himself, completely ignoring her concern, and then with the baby in his arms he vanished out of the ward, ignoring her when she shouted his name at his retreating back. It was only the fact that it was Carsonthat stopped her disobeying doctor's orders and going after him. But still...

* * *

Dom had returned, and dozed off in a chair at her side, his Stephen Donaldson novel balanced precariously on his knee, by the time the doctors finally gathered outside her room. Although she couldn't hear their voices, she could see them through the open door, and she was a good enough student of humanity to know that something was very wrong. Had they changed their minds? Were they going to take him from her? No-one had actually _said _what they had planned for him, but she'd presumed that because they'd left him with her, she could keep him. But now - oh, Carson, what have you done?

Doctor Murray, Carson (cradling Blake), Colonel Cautley and, for some odd reason, McKay, entered the room. The sound of the door shutting abruptly behind them jolted Dom awake so suddenly that his book fell to the ground with a loud _slap! _

'Doctors, Colonel,' said Meaghan by way of cautious greeting, her concern overriding even her intense pleasure at seeing McKay again (and this time, when she wasn't doped to the eyeballs and could be _sure _that he really was okay), and asked, 'Why are you emanating a this-is-not-a-pleasant-visit vibe?'

Carson and Doctor Murray exchanged a coded glance. 'That would because it isn't, love.' The Scotsman slipped the baby back into her arms and she hugged him close, so much so that he wrinkled his face in displeasure and shot an unhappy colour at her in indignation. 'You're not taking him?' she asked.

Colonel Cautley shook his head, 'No, Doctor Monahan. Nobody's taking him anywhere. In fact, the IOC just informed me that he's worth significant study and that the best place for both of you would be Atlantis.'

She stared. 'You're letting me keep him _and _my job in the Pegasus Galaxy?' Of all the scenarios she had played over in her mind, _that _had seemed the least likely.

He smiled slightly, 'Believe me, nobody's more surprised than I am. But under the circumstances, I don't think -' Carson gave him a look and he fell silent. That look was worse than anything so far. She moved her eyes across all their faces and demanded, 'But that's good news! So why the dour expressions?'

McKay had come closer and was peering curiously at the baby in her arms - (he was thinking that it seemed different when she held it, happy somehow) - but she refused to let his proximity distract her and kept watching the Colonel and the medical doctors intently. Doctor Murray cleared his throat, 'We are still working on all the tests that we ran, Doctor Monahan. However, Doctor Beckett has brought it to my attention that your son is still growing at an alarming rate of roughly ten weeks every twenty-four hours. His time in the sarcophagus seems to have strengthened him, and with your milk, and the proper supplements, I'm sure we can keep him healthy, but-'

'No,' she broke in, 'no, that's not right. The Chancellor said there's some formula, said you inject him and he stops growing so fast, grows normally.' Oh, Lord, somewhere in her doped up brain she'd presumed it had been done. She didn't know enough - unlike Dom she hadn't been around when Stella's boys had been born - _maybe _he was too big, too alert...?

The Doctor, damn him, was nodding calmly. 'Yes, Doctor Beckett mentioned that. However, all the of the Chancellor's data, the DNA samples, the formula - they were all seized by Ba'al. I'm sorry, but at this rate your son has a life span of -'

'Stop!' she shouted before he could say it. The bond between herself and her son worked both ways, and Blake let out a thin wail at her anguish. She tried to calm herself, counted to ten in all the languages she knew, but it failed miserably, and over his crying she demanded angrily, 'So we go get the formula! We go take it back!' She breathed deep and tried to smooth out her mind, hugged Blake close.

Murray looked at Colonel Cautley for help, and when the child's wail had lessened to a whimper, the CO of the _Iliad_ said, 'I really am sorry, Doctor Monahan, but in the scheme of things... you have to understand how much money, and energy, it takes each time a X-304 makes a journey. We were bending the rules just to come and get you.'

'Now I wish you hadn't! At least there he would have had the formula! My God, you've condemned him to death!' Furious tears had started to stream down her face, 'Do you think I _care _what it costs? I know you all think I'm mad but - he's my _son_!'

Dom's anger was rising at the sight of his sister's distress. McKay was just as bothered by it, but unfortunately for him the words that slipped out weren't quite the ones he'd meant to say. After all, he still wasn't sure that he'd made the right decision. And so somehow he found himself commenting, 'I'm sure you'll have another one, one day.'

Meaghan collapsed back onto her bed in impotent rage, and the baby started to howl blue murder again. Dom, on the other hand, jumped to his feet, almost falling as he slid on his book, and before anyone could stop him he'd exclaimed, 'You _insensitive _mongrel!' and slammed his fist square into the centre of McKay's face.

Breaking his nose.

Just like Meaghan had done only a few months earlier.

A string of almost incomprehensible cursing came from McKay's mouth, hand to his face and the blood dripping between his fingers. The agony was even _worse _this time, if that were possible. But still, it was oddly inspiring - he always _did _work best in unpleasant circumstances - and through the blood he managed to babble (the words slightly warped, but understandable), 'The Sphere! Oh, God, Colonel Cautley, Ba'al has a Sphere! And Argennos gave himself the gene. Tell the IOC that and I bet they let us go!' It was quite an achievement to speak such a monologue and not suffocate.

Cautley, who had a private vendetta to settle with the goa'uld for damaging his battlecruiser on her virgin voyage, nodded slowly and then left the room, leaving McKay with his misery, and Domenic cursing because his book was covered in McKay's damned blood - and Meaghan blowing her nose loudly on the corner of her sheets and gazing at the Canadian like he were the best thing since gherkin sandwiches. As for Blake? He just blew bubbles silently and glowed loud gold in all the minds that would let him in.

* * *

** _(Ba'al's Ha'tak...)_ **

Ba'al had been scanning Argennos' data for a good half hour, when he paused suddenly, and demanded, 'What's this?'

Argennos looked a little cowed. He hadn't found their working relationship at _all _satisfying now that he'd been stripped of his planet and of his power. He glanced at where Ba'al was pointing and said in a quiet voice, 'The DNA combination used to create the child.'

Ba'al shook his head. 'You shouldn't have used this particular blend. It's too strong. The child would have developed a mind of its own - it probably already had, you fool, and that was the extra pressure that caused its demise.'

Argennos said nothing. He hadn't been able to resist, when present with such samples... But he didn't tell Ba'al that. He simply nodded, and then after a few minutes, added, 'It won't happen this time, Ba'al.'

'Make sure of it.' And then the Goa'uld tossed the data reader down on some cushions, and wandered off to find something to eat.


	19. Glad All Over

** _(10 December, on the Iliad, en route to Earth.)_ **

John Sheppard was in a tremendously good mood. It had been great being back in the cockpit of a F-302 again, and even more fun to have Mitchell as his wingman, with the pair of them competing to see who could get the most kills while they kicked Ba'al's butt. It had been a real blast, and two days later the good humour was still with him. Which was why, instead of getting cross at Lowell, he just grinned at her smarmily and presumed that she was pulling his leg. After all, it was hard to tell with her. But she _was_ looking at him with a wide-eyed sort of innocence on her face (well, as innocent as this particular fat woman in sneakers and bad lipstick could manage), and so he finally asked, 'You're saying that the guns from the AA51 are _organic?_'

To be honest, he'd forgotten all about them, and he couldn't see for the life of him why she'd been put on board to work on them. Unless, of course, it was to get her as far away as possible from the SGC...

She nodded twice, her gum smacking as her head bobbed and her jowls wobbled.

He sat on the edge of her work bench and, now a little more convinced that she was being serious, repeated, 'You're saying that the guns are _alive_?'

She scratched her eyebrow, 'Well, they're not about to trot off and order a hamburger, or start a mutiny, _fanciullo_, but yeah, sure. Like I said, organic. There _is _a more technical answer, but it would be clearly wasted on you.'

Okay. So she was serious. He stared at her slightly, 'Organic weapons?'

'Why not? _You're _organic, and _you _kill stuff.'

'That's hardly the same thing.'

'No? Really? Well, my point is, they are organic, and while my brain might be the best around, and the Canadian bantam's comes close, neither of us is really into living stuff. Even when it's microscopic, wrapped up in metal, and shoots to kill. I need a biologist.'

'A biologist?'

She smacked her gum at him impatiently, 'You got a hearing impediment, _fanciullo_, or you just been hit on the heat one too many times? Yes, a biologist. And if I've understood it right, then that godawful racket that's been going on all morning is the sound of someone trying to convince a presumably perfectly well-qualified biologist that when we reach Earth tomorrow, he has to jump ship. So, if you'd be so kind as to step out there and intervene, it'd be muchly appreciated.'

'Yes, ma'am.' He jumped from the bench and she eyed him piercingly as he hurried out of her cargo bay, trying to work out if he'd just given her lip or not.

The 'godawful racket' got briefly louder, then there was silence, and Sheppard reappeared with the young Australian following in his wake. Dom had a slightly stumped expression on his face, and was whining loudly, 'First, I'm told that I can't stay on board even though Meaghan is, and that I have to go to Atlantis. Then I'm told that my contract's invalid and I can't even do that - no, no, of course not, instead I have to go back home, where the job I had lined up is no doubt well and truly screwed by now, because it's not like I've been answering my mobile, and I'll end up on the dole for God knows how long because nobody ever employs anybody in our damn country. But now, _now _you're telling me that I have to stay onboard after all, because some old crackpot tells you a fairytale about living guns? You people need your freakin' heads read!'

Sheppard shrugged, throughly used to that kind of rant from scientists by now, and said, 'Well, kid, that's your crackpot. Lowell, meet Monahan. Monahan, meet Lowell. Come to think of it, you must already have met in the SGC. So, play nicely now.'

But to his astonishment the older woman chewed her gum in rapid succession, looked Domenic up and down and said, 'Oh, it's _you._ Yes, I do recall meeting , _bello_, you can call me Callie.'

Domenic shot Sheppard a slightly terrified look, because of the predatory way the woman - who was old enough to be his mother - had glanced at him, but the Colonel had already thrown up his arms in disgust and gone off to a corner for a nice little nap. There was no sense to the world any more. Elizabeth was cross at him for coming to protect her - when he'd gone to visit the Monahan baby it had looked unhappy to be held by him (even though he had the gene - and kids _always _liked him!), and now, to cap it all off, a woman (admittedly, a grotesque one) considered some scraggly-intellectual-greenie-cum-hippie with a beard to be a _bello_ while he was a _fanciullo_.

Still. It had been damn good to be back in the cockpit and competing with Mitchell. He grinned at the thought, shut his eyes, and dozed off...

* * *

Apart from Dom and Carson, who dropped in regularly, Meaghan had had a spattering of guests. Mitchell, and Sheppard, and even some odd little bloke called Gregori who was apparently both Eldra's husband (well, her widower, she supposed), and also the man she was deeply in debt to -- because if it wasn't for his neat little device that sought out the Chancellor's blood (and which in the meantime had been wired into the ship to make it effective over immense distances), then they couldn't have followed Ba'al even if they'd wanted to - not that they were yet. The stupid IOC had insisted they go via Earth.

But her strangest visitor of all was Agnarr.

Obviously, she'd never seen the _Iliad's _Asgard, but even Hermiod she'd only seen at a distance on the _Daedalus_. So to say that Agnarr suddenly materialising beside her bed had been startling was putting it mildly. Just one more highly-surreal thread to add to the bizarre tapestry that was her life...

She'd been breastfeeding when he'd appeared (and, for the record, that was something else that wasn't _quite _how she'd imagined it), and he had simply stood there for a minute or two with an inscrutable look on his face. At his arrival, Blake had turned his head as much as he could without losing grasp on her nipple, and blinked almost as much as the Asgard did. Clearly, in the same way that he preferred those with the ATA gene, and was still scared silly of poor Teyla, he could tell that Agnarr was something different.

But then, by the end of the evening he would be pushing twenty weeks of age. Somebody had given Meaghan a week-by-week baby book - apparently one of the techs had a wife who was due in a few months and he'd been reading it diligently - and she kept looking through it despondently and watching the weeks of development pass before her eyes. He already recognised his own name when other people said it out loud. He could roll right over when she lay him in the middle of the bed, turning like a grub in the oversized singlet she'd dressed him in. He grew so fast -

And now he and the Asgard were staring at each other like they were buried deep in one another's brains. Of course, she thought with a wry grin, Agnarr had probably never seen someone breastfeed before, either. She pulled her shirt a little more around her (it was glorious to be out of hospital gowns, though it meant she was back in military kit), but it seemed like a rather silly compulsion. After all, _he _was hardly dressed.

'So.' He announced suddenly, coming closer with his strange gait, 'This is the human infant.'

She nodded, 'Yes. This is Blake.'

The Asgard's eyes blinked a little faster, 'I apologise. I was not informed that he possessed a name yet.'

In the short time that she'd been on the _Iliad_, she'd heard some mighty odd stories about this Asgard and his bad attitude (Mitchell, in particular, had whinged fiercely about him during his visit), but she decided on sudden impulse that she was going to like him. Besides, Blake certainly did. She grinned, and replied, 'You don't have to apologise. Cautley and the others insist on just calling him The Baby. Actually it's a small wonder he hasn't been dubbed Doctor Monahan Junior, or something with the paranoia that seems to go on around here about the use of first names, but I guess _three _Doctor Monahans would be really too much. Though - I guess it's different for you. I mean, everyone uses _your _first name, don't they?'

Agnarr was silent at her stream of words, and then he reached out and rested a long, knobbly finger on the soft, dark hair of the boy's head. At the unexpected touch, Blake's entire body shivered, and he let go of her nipple completely to turn his head as far as it would go, eyes rolling a little as though he were checking that the finger _did_ belong to that mind.

'He thinks in colours,' stated the Asgard.

Meaghan shifted her son slightly so she could do up a few buttons, and said, 'Yes. He does... though you're the first one other than me to admit it. I think Dom is starting to feel it. Actually, I suspect that everyone with the ATA gene does to different extents. But I think most of them are uncomfortable with it, so block it out subconsciously...' And so she'd been starting to doubt her own sanity. It was beautiful to be validated by Agnarr, of all people.

'You perceive the colours as emotions?' he asked.

She nodded, and then bit her lip. 'Is that wrong?'

More blinking. 'No, I believe that is how they are intended.' Silence for a second, then, 'Blake is damaged.'

_Ah. _Honesty _and _acceptance. She'd already realised that fact herself. 'Yes. He is.'

'This mind has great potential. But it lacks some of the manner of thinking that is customary to your kind.'

'Because he's growing too fast?'

'Yes. And because he has been sabotaged.'

She jerked upright, bumping Blake so hard that the contact was lost between him and the Asgard's finger, and stared at the alien, 'How do you mean?'

Agnarr blinked slowly, obviously under the impression that his statement had been perfectly self-explanatory, before saying, 'I believe that his mind was deliberately wiped clean. He was intended to be - hollow. However, the DNA blended to create him was too strong and he managed to create himself a mind despite this.'

_Which was why he'd been empty for those days, and then had suddenly blossomed out. _When Daniel had come to visit her, he'd said that he and McKay had a theory that her son had been meant as an advanced host. An advanced host, with an empty mind...

Blake reached out a hand and grasped the finger that the Asgard had left suspended in space, gripping onto it happily. Agnarr blinked at the child, and then said, 'His creation of his own mind is an impressive feat. It would be like a human teaching himself to talk when he has never heard the spoken word. Blake is further advanced than the others of your race.'

He raised his other hand, and suddenly had a finger against her own head. She'd never touched an Asgard before; had for some reason expected the experience to be cold and clammy. But while the skin was cool, and smoother than a human finger, it wasn't unpleasant. He was looking at her just as intently as her son (with a mind white in concentration) was looking at him, and said, 'Blake's mother is also advanced.'

She shook her head, smiling; 'Only my ovaries, I think.'

He blinking, clearly annoyed that she would disagree, and said firmly, 'No. His mother is also advanced. But you are still in a process of change. This is something I have not seen before, a flux of development in one individual. It is - interesting.'

She looked at him curiously, 'You think I can do other stuff? I mean, not just ATA stuff, but - Smo stuff?'

'I do not know what a Smo is.'

She burst into laughter, then bit her lip when she realised that he was starting to look _incredibly_ cross, and answered, 'It was Smo who blessed my womb. He was - Ancient, I guess - or at least, a highly developed descendant of the original Lantean settlers in the Pegasus Galaxy. He could make things move, vanish things, read minds...' She paused, pretty sure that she wouldn't like to be able to read minds. She got into enough trouble as it was.

Agnarr was still for a moment - he had pulled his hand back away from her, but allowed Blake to continue gripping the other - then said, 'Perhaps. I theorise that your own body had to be altered to enable you to bear an advanced infant compatibly. However, I do not think pregnancy was expected to occur for some time yet.'

'Smo made me an _Ancient_?'

'No.' He gave her what was definitely a distinctly _superior _look, 'He simply gave you a push along the evolutionary path. You are not Ancient. And the term is ambiguous. You should call them Alterans, or Lanteans, if it is to them that you refer. Or Ascended, if it is that that you mean. But you are neither Alteran, nor Ascended. You are simply a _fractionally _more advanced human being.'

'I don't _feel _any different.'

'That is because your mind is lazy.'

_Oh, now that's just a little bit much - _

'I can teach you, if you wish.' He was looking at Blake while he spoke.

Finally, it was her turn to blink, and she answered in surprise, 'Er - okay...'

* * *

Agnarr had requested - or really, Agnarr had ordered - that Meaghan come to the Bridge for her first lesson later that same afternoon, and so about half an hour before she was due, she shouldered a small bag of Blake-stuff on one side of her body, and lifted Blake himself onto the other, his fist shoved in his mouth, and decided to take the long route there. Despite never having explored the _Iliad, _it was basically identical to the _Daedalus_, and the _Daedalus _she had gotten to know pretty well in those first three weeks or so when she'd first gone to Atlantis. And she rather thought that she'd like to go and visit Zelenka.

The Czech was sitting up in bed when she arrived in the infirmary (she'd already been moved to her own quarters on the condition that she behave herself, and visit the Doc each morning), reading a complicated looking journal. But he put it down when she came in, smiled, and pulled himself up into a more specifically sitting position. 'Ah,' he commented with a smile directed at both her and the baby, 'So this is the little _dítě_ I've heard so much about, eh? You know, he's the talk of the ship. Every visitor I've had, from McKay to Ronon, they all talk about this little Blake Monahan.'

She smiled. Good old Radek. That was the main reason she'd wanted to see him. She'd felt rather down after all of Agnarr's comments about her son being 'sabotaged', and she was physically tired (between waking up for Blake, and waking up to escape nightmares...), and she'd known that _he _would say the right nice thing to cheer her up.

Blake glanced at him, at first without much interest (after all, he didn't have the ATA gene), but when Zelenka gave him a silly little wave, he beamed in response. To her utter astonishment - after all, Zelenka _was _a scientist in the same echelons as McKay, and she'd heard stories about his hate of the kid planet - he asked spontaneously, 'Can I hold him?'

She raised her eyebrows, but grinned and passed him over, 'Sure.'

He took the baby, only a little awkwardly and of course Blake reached straight up to make off with the man's glasses. Zelenka laughed wryly, and moved his head out of reach, 'It is always the first thing.' He must have finally noticed Meaghan's astonishment, because he said, 'This size, they aren't too bad. It's when they start to talk that I don't much like them.' He shrugged slightly, 'My sisters had babies, small like this, when I left for Atlantis. Probably they are at school now.'

'You haven't been home since you went to Atlantis?' She stared at him.

He shook his head, 'Earth, yes. But home, no. It is simply that - I am no good at keeping my mouth shut. Lying is not so much my thing.'

She grinned, and thought about her own short time with her mother, 'Oh, I know _exactly _what you mean...'

* * *

Just as she was about to leave for her lesson, Mitchell turned up to see one of the marines - who'd been shot back on Locrux - and when he saw her standing there about to take Blake from Zelenka, he asked if she'd like him to baby-sit. Well, actually, what he'd said was, 'Hey, little buddy, you want to hang with your Uncle Cam for while...?' and given them both one of his most winning grins. Still, despite herself, she'd looked doubtful for a moment, then bit her lip and reminded herself sternly that this was _Cameron_, and he wasn't going to kidnap her baby.

Nevertheless, when she left the room a few minutes later minus Blake and baby-bag, she was deeply bothered. Mostly, if she were brutally honest with herself, she was bothered by how much she'd changed. She was somehow a different woman - she didn't sleep, and she looked at everyone suspiciously. Either way, it was probably because she was cross at herself that she reacted the way she did. After all, it was such a stupid little thing... She'd been walking blindly into the Bridge when Sam had been walking out, and the two women had run head on into each other. Meaghan had sworn loudly before she'd even looked at who it was, but then when she'd seen it was _Sam - _Sam, who she disliked so unreasonably - Sam who she knew McKay had always had a thing for - that Sam_ \- _she snapped, 'Watch it! God, some people have places to be.'

Sam had blinked, then smiled, and said pleasantly, 'You're Doctor Monahan, aren't you? I saw you, briefly, back in the SGC. How - how are you coping?'

Sam being nice was _awful_. Meaghan looked at her sullenly - all her angst from before she'd spoken to Zelenka rushing right back like a big fat cloud - and muttered, 'Fine.' She _really _didn't want to talk to _Sam_. Not Sam. Not Sam who meant so much to McKay that he'd even hallucinated her into saving his life once, for God's sake - oh, yes, Meaghan had heard the story. How could she not have?

She looked resentfully at the blonde and added, 'And yourself? Blown up any suns lately?'

Sam started, but then laughed pleasantly, 'Ah, yes. I heard your brother had been reading all our files - though, I suppose that's common knowledge anyway.' She was still smiling, and it was obvious (well, not so obvious to Meaghan, because she wasn't exactly thinking straight) that the astrophysicist didn't have the faintest idea why Meaghan was looking at her so crankily. The older woman drew her eyebrows a little together and asked carefully, 'Um - have I done something to upset you?'

Meaghan stared, 'What haven't you done? I mean, you _know _he's crazy about you!' Then the Australian realised what she'd just said, clamped her hand over her mouth and blushed red, the anger vanishing from her in an instant. Oh, crap, why did she let herself talk in moods like that? She needed masking tape, seriously, really thick masking tape like they use in the post-office to seal-up parcels.

Sam shook her head, 'I have no idea -' she began, then paused, and made a small 'oh!' noise. She remembered suddenly something that Mitchell had said about her, and had to fight back a laugh, 'You're not talking about _McKay_ are you?' A bit of the laugh slipped out despite herself at the thought.

Meaghan went even redder. Oh God. She _knew _everyone else thought it was funny, but the sight of Sam laughing at her brought some of her anger back, 'I don't see what's so amusing,' she said stiffly.

Sam managed to drag herself back into line, 'I'm sorry, it's just so - you're _jealous _of _me_?' She almost lost control again. It was so ridiculous. McKay, of all people. She was _so _uninterested in the man, that when she'd first met him she'd almost considered dating him in the hope that her apparent jinx would work and something horrid would happen to him. But - it was obvious that the little red head didn't view him like that. Sam shrugged softly, aware that the girl in front of her was awfully emotional at the moment, and said, 'Trust me, you're more than welcome to him. In fact, if you can get him out of my life all together, I'll consider myself in your debt.'

Meaghan gave her a look.

Sam smiled, 'I can't believe I am actually having this conversation but - honestly, Doctor Monahan, I give you my wholehearted blessing. Go for it.'

And to her eternal surprise, a rather hormonal Meaghan suddenly threw her arms around her, hugged her tight and said, 'Oh, God, I'm so sorry! I've been so horrible to you in my head...'


	20. Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds

** _(11 December, Iliad, en route to Earth.)_ **

Samantha Carter watched McKay curiously. It wasn't that she had ever found him even vaguely attractive; for that matter, she still didn't _really_ like him, thought admittedly in the last few years (probably because of the blessed distance between herself and the Pegasus Galaxy) she'd moved from complete-and-utter revulsion to mild irritation. But today she was actually feeling something that verged on _sympathy_. From what Cameron had told her about their time on Locrux, she was pretty sure that the physicist was in a state of denial about being smitten with the funny little linguist who'd gone and gotten herself turned into a semi-instant mother. And from the odd altercation she and Meaghan had had in the doorway to the Bridge, apparently the feelings were mutual. Sam found it rather strange that _he _was in denial, since he'd never had the slightest compunction about telling _her _how he felt. Mind you, that just made her suspect that it was something more serious - and if it were, she'd be in a debt of gratitude to the Australian girl for life...

Still, she supposed that the unexpected motherhood of the girl, not to mention the fact that the baby's father was one of his closest friends, made awkward for him. Still, if there was one thing that Sam had learnt in life, it was that there was no point moping. And moping was definitely was McKay was doing. He'd been working constantly for the last two days, either with her (trying to fix the damage to the hyper drive left by Ba'al's weapon, which meant that the ship kept dropping in and out of hyperspace), or with the Ancient weapons. Now she watched as he checked the part of the ship's computer network that he'd just spent the last hour fixing - discovered that it _still _didn't work - then swore loudly and thumped it with his fist. She had to bite back a chuckle that _that _made it work, while he muttered, 'This is what you get when you let the US Air Force construct complex machinery...'

Sam leant into the space between them and said, 'You know, McKay, I'm sure you'd be in a better mood if you just went and visited her.'

'I _have _visited her,' he snapped, then paused at the admissions implicit in that statement, and added sullenly, 'Visit who?'

Sam passed him the tool that she knew he was about to ask for, and continued, amused, 'Doctor Monahan. I know it must be odd for you given what's happened, but I'm sure she feels she's in your debt for sticking her baby in the sarcophagus. And then, it _was _your idea about the Sphere, right? Because of you we'll only be in orbit around Earth for twenty-four hours and then we're going after Ba'al, using that device of Gregori's.'

He glared at her, 'Like I said, blue eyes, I _have_ visited her. Her brother broke my nose.'

'Well, that's already healed, _and _it used most of the Locruxian meds left, so you should feel honoured. Besides - I know she cares about you. Just ask Cam. Holy Hannah, just ask _her._'

McKay stopped dead, slammed the tool back down on the panel with a thud, and said, 'My God - now even you're joining in. What is this, the Good Ship Valentine? _Mitchell_ was on at me this morning. Why does everybody care so much?' He realised suddenly that he was shouting - and shouting at _Sam _\- and blinked in a surly way before muttering, 'Pass me those wires, would you?'

She obliged, answering quietly, 'Maybe people want to see you happy?'

He glanced at her sideways, '_You _want to see _me _happy? I thought you despised me?'

Well! What an admission that finally was! She grinned, wowed that he'd _finally _put two and two together and gotten four after all this time, and said, 'Fine. Look at it this way - if you're with her _that_ will make me happy.'

He snorted, and she shook her head, 'McKay, the fact is, it's obvious you care about her. If you admit it, you might stop taking it out on the rest of us, and this poor ship.' And she passed him the pair of pliers that she knew he was going to need in about two seconds time.

* * *

** _(11 December, Iliad, in orbit around Earth.)_ **

Rodney was hurrying down a corridor to the mess-hall when he spotted them through the open door of her quarters. He remembered vaguely someone telling him that she'd been moved out of the infirmary. Apparently those pills she'd brought back were really helping with - with whatever it was that she had because she'd given birth (to be honest, he didn't want to know the details).

His feet slowed at the sight of them, and then against his will they stopped completely, and he stood and stared at the wall indecisively, before turning and walking back to the door and looking at them a little more. The battlecruiser had arrived in orbit around Earth a few hours earlier and the planet hung beneath them, blue and green and white. Monahan sat in the curve of her viewport, her head resting against it, knees up, and Blake sitting in her lap. He was grown - _really _grown - since McKay had seen him in the hospital. She had her hair unbound and it fell all around her face like a veil.

Without warning, McKay realised that he had walked into the room and was close enough to hear her speak. She had been pointing out the viewport at the stars, and the orb beneath, and whispering in a sing-song voice the names of all the constellations in sight. 'You see,' she was adding softly, the boy looking alternating from her to the planet, 'It's a big old universe out there, little pickle. We're gunna halt this growing thing of yours so you get a chance to explore every inch of it.'

McKay's throat constricted. He watched as she brushed some longish hair from her son's forehead - dark, with red flecked through it - and shifted his heavy weight against her to get more comfortable. Then she smiled to herself and glanced at Rodney sideways through her hair, 'Why don't you just come on in, McKay?'

He started guiltily, and blustered, 'You left the door open, I-'

Suddenly he felt very awkward. It had been simple at the dig, he'd realised that she was attractive, and that was great. Wonderful. He liked attractive women, and he was self-confident enough to presume that they'd like him back. But somewhere the goalposts had shifted on this one, he wasn't entirely sure why, and he certainly wasn't sure how. He'd done a pretty good job at avoiding her since the infirmary, he was pretty sure she'd be too busy to notice, and he was still sorting through the -

'Rodney.'

Oh, God, she was doing that thing with her eyes again. He wandered over to look out at the stars, as though he hadn't just lost all feeling to his legs, and asked querulously, 'Since when do _you_ know astronomy?'

She shrugged, 'I was looking at some charts in the Bridge this morning, when I was there for my Agnarr lessons.'

'And you, what? Memorisedthem?' He glanced at her, frankly astonished, and when he did he realised that the squidget, who was sitting ramrod-straight in her lap without actually needing her knees for support, was craning his head back to stare up at him with a pair of big blue eyes. It was somewhat disconcerting.

She smiled, 'Yup. It was always Dom with the photographic memory. But Agnarr has this theory about me having - how would Cam put it? - super-funky mind powers? You must have seen us at lessons, I think the bickering is driving Cautley insane, but he doesn't dare forbid the Asgard anything in case he does something nasty to the ship, or something along those lines. Anyway, homework includes memorising random stuff. It's supposed to extend the brain cells or something. I don't know. I only understand half of what Agnarr comes out with at the best of times. But Blake worships him, so...'

McKay snorted. 'You two must be the only people on the ship he doesn't despise. I've never met a _worse _tempered Asgard, and believe you me, I've met a few. He's been making all sorts of stupid demands of me.'

She gave him an inscrutable look. 'One of them _ought _tohave been that you come here.'

He glared at her, 'Yes, well, was one of them was.'

She grinned, 'Well you're not very obedient, are you? I _asked _him to ask you. I - I kind of thought you would have dropped by of your own accord, by now.'

He blinked twice. 'Really?'

She wrinkled her nose in confusion. Hadn't he seen the look of relief on her face when he'd woken up in the hospital, back on Locrux, alive and well? Hadn't he seen her face when she'd seen him with Blake? Okay, so sure, she hadn't been so high since she'd met that Frenchman in Amsterdam, but still, she was pretty sure that she'd looked obviously ecstatic. She frowned slightly, 'McKay - of course I wanted to see you. I owe you. In fact, apart from all the obvious stuff, then if what Cam told me is true, it's only because Blake and I were with youthat the _Iliad _was able to beam us up... the list goes on. Actually, I thought you'd be wandering around patting yourself on the back about it all.'

His hands dropped to his sides. 'But in the infirmary - and your brother -'

He looked utterly at sea.

Meaghan's frown deepened, 'McKay, you idiot, in the infirmary I'd just found out that my little baby is growing so fast that he'll be older than me in five months time...' The words caught in her throat for a second, then she found her voice again and continued, ‘And as for Dom, he apologized, didn't he?'

'He broke my nose! That's not a matter of simple apologies!'

'You _were _being an insensitive mongrel, McKay. _I'd _have broken your nose, if it had occurred to me first.'

McKay fiddled with his jacket. The squidget was still staring at him.

She glanced at her son, and said, 'You can hold him, if you want. He particularly likes people with the ATA gene. He doesn't bite, and the need for nappies isn't contagious, you know.'

McKay stepped back like she'd just offered him a taipan to play with, but as a reward for his rudeness, he got a Blake smile, all gums and tooth, and Meaghan chuckled. 'He likes you. His thoughts go all happy yellow when he sees you. I think he knows it was you who brought him back to life.'

'He has your nose,' said the Canadian suddenly, and then, before she could reply, added quickly, 'You know, they have no idea what they've gotten themselves into. I bet the IOC have this image of you getting yourself an Athosian nanny, or something, but I know you. You'll want to lug the squidget everywhere you go, won't you? Shove him under your desk while you're working, take him offworld with you, that kind of thing.'

She burst out laughing, 'The what?'

He looked sheepish, not having meant to use the term aloud. 'The squidget. I mean, that's what he is, right? Kind of, small and squidgy...' he trailed off, getting the distinct impression he was digging himself into a bigger hole, but to his relief she just shook her head and said, amused, 'Rodney McKay, you never cease to amaze me. You won't touch him, like he's a plague carrier or something, but you're making up weird pet-names for him.'

'You're not cross?' After all, you could never tell with her.

'Not really, though you know he'll hate it when he's sixteen. But -' her voice broke again, and her tone changed, 'Rodney, I'm just glad that you think he's still going to be around when we go back to Atlantis, and little enough to shove under a desk...'

He suddenly felt determined to make everything all right for her. 'We _will_ find the formula.'

Without warning she reached out _her _hand and grabbed _his _hand, and knitted her fingers in amongst his. Her hand was rather on the small side, and so she could only just manage it, but she did, and squeezed tight. 'Thank you - Rodney - I'm really glad that you're here.'

He wasn't sure if she meant on the _Iliad_ or in her room, but either way - damn it, Sam was right. The linguist wasn't just hot.

He _cared_.

But before he could speak a gravely voice burst in on them, '_Ragazzi_, while this is ever so heart-warming and Oscar-worthy, I require the presence of Mister McKay's brain in my cargo bay.'

He snatched his hand way, glared angrily around at Lowell who stood in the doorway leering, and muttered, 'I have to go-' and hurried out.

Meaghan watched him leave, then beamed at her son happily, tapping him playfully on the nose and saying, 'You know, pumpkin, your mum has _so_ got that one in the palm of her hand...'

Blake's mind beamed right on back.

* * *

McKay growled softly to himself. The weapons were annoying him. He wasn't even sure why Lowell needed _his _help, apart from his obvious genius, since he was pretty sure that he'd be more use to Sam in getting this ill-certified bucket of bolts roadworthy again, if indeed he had to be working at all during his supposed lunch-break. And he wasn't particularly impressed, either, that the irritating, fat woman had interrupted him in Monahan's quarters just when-

A spring flew out and hit the American woman in the face and she swore at him and yelled, 'Hey! Wake up and smell the ammunition! These are weapons here - concentration, please!'

He glared at her crossly, and demanded, 'How the hell did you get put in charge, anyway? I mean, if I have to play with these stupid things - and trust me, the whole concept of weapons powered by bacteria-produced energy is just _stupid _\- then at least I could be calling the shots!'

She shrugged, 'Ask the _fanciullo_.' She pointed roughly in the direction of Sheppard, Dom and Mitchell, who sat at a card table playing UNO (_such _an intellectual game...) with a couple of marines. McKay looked at John for a moment, decided that appeal during the middle of his precious lunch break (and how come _Sheppard_ genuinely got a break anyway?) would be a waste of perfectly good breath, and snapped instead, to change the subject, 'So, where'd you get your doctorate?'

She blinked at him, and then crackled a small gum bubble between her lips, 'Haven't got a doctorate.'

He couldn't have been more shocked if she'd told him that her third head had been a present from a polish-speaking hamburger. 'You - you what?' He was pretty sure that all the scientists in Atlantis had at least _one _doctorate. Or, he had _been _sure. 'But - but I've heard people calling you Doctor Lowell!'

She continued working, unperturbed, 'Nothing to do with me. I suppose Ms Lowell just doesn't roll off the lips so easily around here.'

He was still gawping. 'But - but you have a degree in something, right?'

'Of course I have. When I was over at R&amp;D they brought in a clear policy on that. All staff had to have at least a basic degree.'

Oh, thank God! He heaved a sigh of relief, 'So - what's your degree in, then?'

'Aromatherapy.'

He managed to knock a small pile of tools onto the floor with a godawful clatter. 'You're kidding.'

Mitchell and Sheppard had paused in their game to watch curiously. McKay stood up and actually backed away a step or two, when she just sat there and looked at him. He was getting frantic, 'You're joking right? I mean, you're being funny?'

She chomped her gum extra loudly, 'Policy was, we had to get a degree. Nobody ever said what in.'

'Oh. My. God.' He threw up his hands in horror, 'There's an aromatherapist working on dangerous Ancient weapons in the middle of open space and I'm aiding and abetting!' He had gone very pale, and left the cargo bay at a smart pace.

'A nice infusion of ylang ylang and lavender would help with the nerves!' she shouted gleefully after him, 'Or a nice massage from the little lady!'

But by then, he was out of earshot and she went happily back to her work. Small-minded Canadian bantam...

* * *

On the other side of the cargo bay, Mitchell was dealing out a new round of cards. Dom picked up his hand full and sorted them into colours, and then commented with a chuckle, '_McKay _has a little lady? I'm amazed.'

Sheppard put down a blue four and then exchanged an odd look with Mitchell, who bit back a grin, chucked down a wild card, and said, 'Make it green, if you'd please, Anders.' The marine added a green five to the pile.

Dom glanced around curiously, 'Well, go on, spill the beans. He's one of the most obnoxious men I've ever met - who ever he's got must be pretty damn desperate.'

Sheppard sniggered slightly, 'I wouldn't tell _her _that. She's just as likely to box your ears.'

Mitchell rolled his eyes and said, 'Er - Dom - it's kind of like - well - you remember when we first met and - er - Megs was all embarrassed about that colleague she fancied?'

The young man laughed, grinned, and then went slightly pale beneath his beard, put his cards face-down in a pile on the table in front of him, and said, very, very slowly, 'You're pulling my chain, right?'

Mitchell shook his head, but Sheppard - who'd never had a sister and didn't get the whole verging-on-paternal attitude, smirked and said, 'I've suspected it for ages. I mean, the girl edits his paperwork!'

Dom looked relieved, 'Oh, God, is _that _all? She just likes editing stuff, she's weird, that doesn't mean anything.'

Mitchell shrugged, played a skip card, and said, 'Well, let's put it this way. She turned me down because she preferred him.'

The biologist, who had picked up his cards again, looked at the Colonel over them and said, 'My God. You're telling me she has a thing for that - that - that man - that she's had your Doctor's baby - and you were chasing her too? She been around with all the rest of you?'

Anders held up his hands as though to say, 'hell no', while Sheppard just smirked again, 'Well... I know she ogles Ronon in lunch breaks back on Atlantis, and she said once in my hearing that Zelenka was sweet.'

Dom groaned, 'My God. She should never have been let out of the house, let alone out of the galaxy, but... McKay?You have gotto be joking. Now I know she needs her head read.'

Sheppard played a yellow three and shrugged. 'It's a small community, I guess.'

Now it was Mitchell's turn to smirk a little, 'Spoken by the man who lives with it's leader...'

Dom looked at him, curiously, 'You and Elizabeth Weir, huh?' He chucked down a wild card, 'Make it blue, lads - and UNO.'


	21. Let It Be

** _(12 December, on the Iliad, in orbit around Earth)_ **

Meaghan's kid was strange.

Sure, that was probably to be expected, given his weird conception and all. It was kind of hard to remember that he was four days old when he looked and acted more like someone going on twelve months.

But, even beyond that, he was strange.

Just for a start, he'd looked positively depressed when Rodney had carried him and his bag of blocks into John's quarters. (A whole great whack of baby stuff had been bought by Carolyn and Sam, and beamed up onto the battlecruiser, since Meaghan hadn't been given permission to leave.) Rodney had glanced at John, then dumped the kid on the floor saying, 'Monahan needs sleep and I've had direct orders to help that Lowell woman,' and then simply walked out again. The little tyke had pulled himself to his feet against the edge of a chair and stared at the door Rodney had vanished through, with a woeful expression on his face. As though McKay were better company than _he _were! If offended Sheppard's belief in his own charm, and skill with kids.

Then there was the way that Blake could sit, his little back ramrod straight and a concentrated expression on his face, and just play with his blocks for hours on end as though they were the most exciting thing in the world. John had a pretty fair idea that most kids didn't get the whole concept of stacking heaps of blocks till they were more like sixteen months (hey, he had nephews too!). But this kid - block on block, looking at each critically, until finally he'd fumble and send them crashing down, at which point he'd jump a little at the noise, then look offended, and start over again.

But what was _really _strange was the silence. No kid could be that quiet. He didn't babble senseless baby talk; he didn't murmur to himself; he didn't make a peep of sound. Except for the breathing, and the crashing of the blocks, this little guy was as silent as the grave. Of course, then there was the whole colours thing. John could only sense grazings of colour himself - apparently he'd put up a ‘mental wall' to it, according to Agnarr. But Meaghan was constantly raving about the kid like he had a paint-shop in his head, and her brother was going the same way...

Still, the little guy was kind of cute. John couldn't really see anything much of Carson in him, but then not everyone looked like their old man. Unless you counted the blue eyes and darkish hair - but then even the hair had shots of Monahan red through it. And the offended expression when the blocks tumbled was definitely from his mother.

John helped build the tower up again, a soft sort of smile on his face. Playing with the kid made him kind of curious to know what it would be like to have a little one of his own. Just occasionally, he wondered what it would be like to make an honest woman of Elizabeth and have some little Sheppards...

* * *

Elizabeth had asked that she be beamed onto the _Iliad_ before all the non-essentials returned to Earth and the X-304 went after Ba'al. She wanted to see John. She knew that she'd hurt him - or at least, confused him - the last time they'd spoken. Just because, after her protestations, she'd ended up in his arms and in his bed, didn't change what she had said. And now, he wouldn't be pleased at all when he heard...

She stood in the doorway of his small quarters and watched as he sat on the towel he'd spread on the floor, little Blake Monahan and a pile of blocks receiving his full attention. She'd been brought up to date about the baby, and should have known John would be a ready babysitter. He was good with kids - plus the child seemed to prefer those with the gene, apparently - and she had a suspicion that he wanted to become a father himself. She sighed. Just another thing to hang between them. It wasn't that she didn't like kids - she did, a lot - but that she had so much else on her plate. And she simply wasn't read to quit what she was doing...

John realised that they had an audience when Blake suddenly grew still, turned to the doorway, and cocked his head curiously to the left to look at this new, unknown person. 'Hey,' said the Colonel cautiously. He was obviously still a bit stumped by their last few conversations. Well, so was she.

She stayed at the door. 'I got Agnarr to beam me up. The _Daedalus_ leaves tomorrow. It's been a mad scramble to run through the stuff from the Locruxian Ancient lab - such a shame that Ba'al cleaned out the labs belonging to the Chancellor - to see if any of it should go to Atlantis with us. Most of us will be going back home. Ronon, Teyla, Zelenka...'

He glanced back at Blake, then selected a red block and added it to the stack that they'd been making. ' Carson too?' he asked. She heard the disapproval in his voice and guessed that meant he already knew the answer to that question.

Still, she nodded. 'Yes. Carson too. He _is _my Chief Medical Doctor, John. Atlantis needs him. And don't forget that he has Lieutenant Cadman...'

'Now he has a son.'

She raised an eyebrow, 'You know as well as I do that Carson is a man of honour, John. I'm sure you'll find that whatever he and Meaghan have decided, they've decided together. And if they're content, who are we to say anything about it? It's not as though he hasn't acknowledged the boy as his. It's a very unusual and complex situation.'

Then suddenly he paused and looked at her directly, 'So why are _we _saying goodbye? Am I to take it that I'm _not _returning?'

'No.' The word came from her like a whisper, 'I asked for you to stay on the _Iliad_.'

He stared at her and she could see all the worst-case scenarios float behind his eyes. He patted Blake absently on the head and then stood up very, very slowly. 'You did, did you?'

She tried to ignore his tone, not let it aggravate her. 'Yes. I did. I want to know that the best man for the job is watching my people who are staying - Rodney, Meaghan, Lowell.'

'And-?'

Damn him always reading her mind. Damn him for knowing that there was an ‘and'. She bit her lip. 'And I need time to think - about us.'

He stood about two feet away from her. 'I don't see what there is to think about. You know that I love you beyond all else - and you can't tell me it's not mutual.'

Why did she feel like they were having the same old argument? Why did he refuse to understand that that was the problem? She glanced at Blake, who was sucking one of the large blocks and watching them with wide-eyed intensity, and said suddenly, 'You remember that time there was that girl, offworld, and then you and McKay vanished off into the past and were gone three days?'

He looked black, 'I thought we weren't going to mention that. I know I made a mistake.'

'That's not my point. My point is - do you know what I did during those three days? I sat in the dark and cried, like a basket case. I let someone else run the city. I just gave up. And I hated myself for it, John. My point is, you're so determined to go out in a blaze of glory, and what will become of me then? I can't afford to be that person who just collapses...'

He looked suddenly determined, 'So I'll step down.'

'Wh - what?'

'If your problem is that I'm the CO, that I'm always in the front line, I'll step down.'

She shook her head, upset that he would even think it - and also not really believing that he would, if it came down to it - and said, 'I just need time to think, John. That's all.'

Suddenly he was angry, 'Fine! Think!'

And he stormed off.

She stood and watched him go, looked at Blake, looked back at the empty hallway he'd vanished down, and whispered, 'I love you too...'

* * *

John Sheppard turned a corner and slammed his fist so hard into the metal of the wall that he broke open his knuckles. Damn, damn, damn!

_Maybe we made a mistake, maybe the Secretary of Chiefs was right, you shouldn't have come gallivanting across the galaxy, you only came because of me, you want to go out in a blaze of glory... I need time to think about us..._

He swore aloud and slammed his fist a second time into the wall. He heard his knuckles make cracking sounds. Damn, damn, damn! No! This wasn't happening again. This couldn't be happening again. He refused for it to be happening again. His ex-wife had been a mistake, it had been his fault, he knew that now. He'd been too young and too stupid and hadn't kept his wandering hands to himself. But he'd decided it wasn't going to happen this time. He'd been so determined that with Elizabeth, who was unlike any woman he'd ever met and it was a damn miracle she felt anything for him, with her, he wasn't going to make those mistakes. And he still had made them, but she'd pulled them through it, God only knew how. But now -

Damn it, he hadn't thought about how she'd react. He'd heard her on the radio across the universe. He knew her so well that he could tell from her voice exactly what her face would look like. He'd known what it meant to her to have thought she'd lost Carson, what it meant to her to have been man-handled by that bastard on Locrux, tossed through the gate like so much rubbish. He'd known that she was in pain.

And so he hadn't thought. He'd put the next-in-command in charge, grabbed his people, and simply come. Because he knew that she needed him. He'd been thinking with his gut instinct, his need to protect her. Sure, she'd reacted badly, but then she'd ended in his arms and he'd thought it was all going to be okay after all. But now -

Damn, damn, damn! The fist slammed into the wall a third time and this time the pain actually got through to his brain and he looked at the damage he'd done, numbly, looked at the bright blood, and realised he could only just feel his fingers.

Why hadn't he thought it through? Of course she was right. He'd put their careers at risk by charging around like some knight in shining armour. He should have known that the SGC would already have been riding her about their relationship. He should have thought.

Because now _she _was thinking.

_I need to think about you and me. _

Ten trillion gazillion miles away out of his reach, she would be thinking about them and their future. He turned back, and ran down the hallway, stared into his quarters. Where he found some girl, some tech, sitting with Blake. She looked up at him when he came, wide-eyed at the blood dripping from his hand, and said in a small voice, 'If you want Doctor Weir, it's too late. She's already gone. And I think the _Daedalus _is too.'

There was a hand on his shoulder. Domenic Monahan stood in the hall behind him. The kid had cleared his throat, and when John turned on him, murmured mildly, 'Mitchell said I was to ask you if you would teach me to fly.'

'You - you what?' It was such an unexpected statement that Elizabeth was almost - not quite - jolted right out of his mind.

Dom grinned, 'Teach. Me. To. Fly. You know, a F-302.'

'Kid...' Sheppard tried to gather his thoughts, 'I'm as pleased as the next guy that you get to stay onboard, it's great, just increases that whole happy-family vibe that your sister's got going on, you know - but you might have noticed I was -'

'Busy?' Dom looked at him, then glanced at his hand, 'Yeah, tell me about it. You know, I _really _hope that the wall did something to deserve the beating you just gave it. But anyway, flying lessons? I mean, as I understand it, we're going to keep on dropping out of hyperspace until they get it fixed, and so at least it'll give us something to do when we're ducks in the water. And it will keep me out of Meg's space, which is probably just as well too... You know she's raging that they didn't just give us a ship that works. She thinks that the military aren't focussing on the fact that Blake's aging so fast. Of course, she's right...'

Sheppard stared at him, 'Colonel Cautley know you wanna take on of his babies for a joy-ride?'

Dom shrugged, 'Mitchell says it was his idea. If we're going to have a face-off with Ba'al then we may as well have the manpower, right? I think the Colonel has taken it personal, that Ba'al scratched his ship, and is willing to bend all sorts of rules to get some revenge... Anyway, Mitchell says that in between working on the weapons with Lowell, I can have flying lessons. He says that if my shooting's anything to go by, then I'll be a natural, which is pretty bloody cool if you ask me. And you know, I _do _have the gene. So if they actually let me go to Atlantis, I'll be able to fly these puddlejumper things...'

'And why me, if Mitchell is the one with all the grand plans? You know he only likes you cause he likes your sister, right?' John's tone, his words, were still a left-over from the fact that Elizabeth was gone and he'd let her go.

Maybe the kid realised that, because he ignored the comment, and just shot the bleeding hand another bleak look.

Oh. Great. Cameron had guessed how it would go down. He must have heard Elizabeth was onboard - John had told him a little about their troubles, he must have guessed what she was coming for. Mitchell thought he needed distracting. Just stupendous.

He wiped the bloody hand on his trousers and said, 'Fine. Just don't think I'm actually letting you out in space on your first day, okay?'

Domenic beamed a grin that would have put the Cheshire Cat out of business...


	22. It's Only Love

** _(14 December, on the Iliad, heading after Ba'al)_ **

McKay rapped on the door and entered without waiting for a response, then almost dropped the dinner tray he was holding when he realised that Meaghan was sitting with her legs up on a chair, shirt mostly unbuttoned, breastfeeding Blake. She laughed at the expression on his face and tugged a towel over her shoulder a little for his sake, before saying, 'Come in, McKay. It's hardly indecent exposure.'

He'd gone more than a little red though, and for a moment stood vacillating in the doorway, before letting it slide shut behind him and dumping the tray on the table beside her. 'You weren't at lunch,' he said gruffly by way of explanation.

She smiled at him, 'Thanks. I think I must have fallen asleep. I only woke up because this little blighter had decided it was high time for _his _lunch.' She motioned at him to sit down, and he obliged. For a moment he just sat there, then asked, as though at a loss for something to say, 'Er - so how is the squidget?'

She glanced down at her son thoughtfully, the small grey Asgard dolly that someone had made him clutched tightly in his fist, and his mind darting annoyed colours at her for having covered his head with a towel, and said, 'Probably too big to be still breastfeeding him. Doctor Murray thinks I should start him on solids. I always planned on breastfeeding my kids till they were at least eighteen months old - I guess that's what studying anthropology does to you - I just hadn't expected to have a kid that got there so fast...' But before she could get maudlin, Blake rolled his eyes up at her, then let go of her nipple, suddenly having had enough, and beamed hugely. She sat him back against her legs and buttoned up her blouse, though it was slightly damp with milk.

McKay was watching her with a funny expression on his face, one that she thought she rather fancied, but because she was no good at long silences, she swung her feet to the floor, popped Blake on the ground near his blocks and a pile of paper and crayons, then pulled the tray closer to her and started putting what she supposed was jam onto a bun. The food on the _Iliad_ was even worse than the food in Atlantis - and McKay seemed to have been otherwise occupied when he picked out her lunch because it was a terribly odd assortment of stuff. She glanced at the drink, and wrinkled her nose. 'Orange juice.'

The scientist blinked, his perusal of her face interrupted by her voice, and said, 'I thought you liked orange juice.'

'I do. But Blake won't touch my milk if I drink it. I don't know if you heard him playing up a few nights back - well, you probably heard me rather than him, come to think of it - but according to Doctor Murray, lots of babies' stomachs can't deal well with oranges and apparently Blake can sense that. Doesn't surprise me. My Mum ate heaps when she breast fed Dom and me, and apparently it disagreed with us something chronic.' She paused, and realised that Blake had ignored his blocks and walked (without needing to hold the table any more) around to where McKay sat, and now stood looking up at him expectantly, small fingers gripping his trousers intently.

'What do you want?' asked McKay dubiously. At his attention, the boy beamed.

'I think he wants you to pick him up, Rodney. But you can tell him no if you want. He's perfectly capable of understanding instructions, you know.'

The Canadian looked uncomfortable. On the one hand, he didn't particularly like children. But on the other, it was kind of flattering that the fussy little squidget preferred his company over, say Mitchell or Sheppard's, and he was at least _quiet_. The eyes looked up at him and he groaned and buckled under, to Meaghan's delight, taking the kid awkwardly under the arms and pulling him onto his lap. Blake glowed positively gold, wriggled around to get comfortable, and then began an immediate, concentrated exploration of McKay's clothes and face.

Rodney leaned back in the chair and watched the intent expression on Blake's face with something, incredibly, that verged on contentment.

Meaghan finished eating her bun and then said, 'You suit each other.'

McKay frowned, deftly avoiding Blake's curious finger poking in his ear, and said, 'Strange, isn't it? I never really wanted children, but when I look at him I can't help but wonder what it would be like - you know - maybe one day - what a little McKay would be like...'

She grinned. 'Probably rather like him. You know he gets the most concentrated expression on his face when he's building, or drawing. He just vanishes off into his own little world and is _impossible_ to talk to.'

'The price of genius,' answered Rodney with a smirk, secretly flattered that she would compare her son - who she was obviously barmy about - to him. Then he yawned.

'Long day?' she asked, feeling terribly domesticated with the way this conversation was going.

He nodded, 'When isn't it? Between fixing this damned ship and playing with Lowell's living guns...'

Blake had been astonished by the size of the yawn (Mummy couldn't yawn that impressively!), and blinked at him mutely.

'He doesn't ever talk, does he? I mean, he squarks occasionally. But - I don't know - isn't he supposed to talk by now, given what -?'

She looked at him. 'No, he doesn't talk. It could be that he'll start late, relative to his physical age. It could be because of the rate he's growing, though I doubt that, because in everything else his brain is advancing even faster than his body. On the other hand, Agnarr is of the opinion that it's my own fault. He says that unless I learn to ignore his colours, he'll never speak because he won't see what the point is. But I just - well - you know me. How can I ignore him?'

McKay, who could feel the edges of the colours himself, and had no trouble whatsoever ignoring them, shrugged and said with a rude glance in her direction, 'Don't worry, squidget. With your brain, no-one will care. Talking's overrated. And I'm sure your Mum will talk double to make up for it.'

Meaghan stood up, suddenly playful, and hit him hard with a journal that had been lying on the table.

'Vicious little woman,' muttered McKay, grabbing her wrist with one hand and pulling the journal from her with the other, and then reaching round to smack her on the rear with it.

She laughed in his face, and said, 'Oh, no, not that again, mister -' But before she could say anything else, she suddenly saw the look on his face. Wrist still gripped in one hand, he reached out and - just like what seemed like an eternity ago, just like when they had played monopoly - his free hand dropped the journal, darted out, and pushed a great swathe of her hair out of her eyes, and hooked it behind her ear.

But this time, when her stomach lurched in pleasure, and she felt that infuriating blush rise to her face, she put her own hand up, and grabbed his before he could pull away - and pressed it against her cheek. Okay, so it was still stupid.

And he was still the same old McKay.

And it was still irrational - perhaps even more irrational, considering what had happened in between.

But when had rationalism ever done her a good turn?

For a moment he just looked stunned, then he paused in whatever nonsense he had been in the middle of muttering about scruffy women, and murmured instead, 'I love your hair like this, Monahan.'

She smiled slowly, 'My name's _Meaghan_, Rodney.'

With an expression unlike any she'd ever seen on his face, he nodded, 'Meaghan.' And then he pulled her suddenly down towards him, and kissed her softly, fleetingly, _nervously_ on the lips.

When he pulled back, she released his hand and grinned at him foolishly.

And then laughed loudly when Blake, who was put-out at missing all the affection, forgotten and ignored in McKay's lap, suddenly scrambled to his feet and hugged McKay fiercely around the neck. Oh, yes, the comic timing definitely came with the Monahan DNA! She was about to speak, her heart still swollen in delight, when McKay's radio burred and he looked at it crossly.

'Answer it,' she said with a smile, disconnecting her limpet of a son from his neck and standing up, balancing him on a hip, watching Rodney as though all her Christmases had just come at once.

It was Sheppard. There'd been an accident in the weapons' room.

* * *

For ten minutes after McKay had left, Meaghan had paced the room indecisively while Blake pulled at her ear with a concerned look on his face and worried colours blaring out at her. She didn't know if she was making him worried, or if he was making her worried, but either way, if they kept up like this -

'You're right!' she exclaimed suddenly, swung a bag of Blake-stuff onto her free shoulder and then strode barefoot down the halls, avoiding with the deft experience of someone who'd lived in Atlantis the bustle of people moving blindly in the face of an emergency, until she reached the Bridge. Cautley almost exploded at the sight of her (he'd gotten sick of her and Agnarr bickering during her lessons), but she ignored him and made straight for the Asgard. 'Blake, play with Agnarr. Agnarr, watch him would you?' she said in a rush, dropped both toddler and bag at the Asgard's feet - who, in the glance she got of his face managed to look both proud and incredibly astonished (quite an impressive emotional spectrum for an Asgard) and then ran out of the room, bare feet slapping on the floor as she ran for the weapons' room. An accident - an accident that required Rodney - and her brother was there.

To be honest, she'd almost half forgotten that Dom was even on the _Iliad_, he spent so much time working with the Lowell woman, but now she remembered all too well.

The guard at the door took one look at her, and said, 'Authorised personnel only, ma'am.'

She jutted out her chin, looked at the name on his jacket, and said, 'Do you have a mother, Anders?'

He blinked at her, 'Yes ma'am. Of course, ma'am.'

'And do you remember what she's like when she gets really furious, Anders?'

He blanched, 'Unfortunately so, ma'am.'

Her eyes positively flashed at him, 'Well, if you don't let me in that room, you'll think your mumma's a paper tiger compared to me.'

He stepped aside and let her past - and then felt that sinking feeling that he was going to regret having done that. He had temporarily forgotten that however scary his Mom was, Colonel Cautley could be a whole lot scarier...

* * *

Green. Her first thought was how green it was.

Her second thought was that she really should get into the habit of putting shoes on before she comes running to the scenes of accidents. Not that it was like any accident she'd ever seen. The ground beneath her feet was soft and squelchy and covered in a fine, damp moss. Lowell, who had seen her come in, glanced facetiously at her watch and said, 'Yeah, you're about on time for when I'd expected to see you... Who'd you leave the _piccolino_ with?'

'Agnarr,' Meaghan answered shortly, which earnt her an astonished looked, but she ignored it and demanded, 'What the hell happened here?'

Lowell chewed her gum loudly, shrugged, and said, 'Gun exploded. I think it was old age.'

'You mean fatigue?'

An arch look. '_Ragazzina_, I said old age so I meant old age. These things are organic. Everything organic has a use-by date.'

'Whatever, I don't really care. Where are Dom and Rodney?'

Lowell pointed to the other end of the room, where Meaghan suddenly realised that what was appeared to be wall was in fact a sheet of moss stretching from floor to ceiling. Sheppard and some marines stood around with bemused looks on their faces near it. 'They already took your brother to the infirmary, so if you want to see him, you're in the wrong place. He'll be fine though - I think his pride was thing most hurt. It offended him that, given his rapport with the weapons up till now because of his gene, one should go and blow up on him.'

'And McKay?' Why call _him_ because one of these weird guns chucked in the towel and spread green moss everywhere?

'_Ragazzina_, he's trying to fix the problem.'

Meaghan had bent to get a closer look at the moss. It was growing even as she watched it, and all along, just above the floor level, there seemed to ripple some kind of green gas. She looked at it cautiously, before asking, 'And what exactly _is_ the problem then? I mean, apart from the fact it looks like a nature reserve in here...'

A few loud chews on the gum like a camel on its cud, then, 'Well. You see, these here guns are cantankerous and patience-trying. But they also happen to be run on a very potent gas - yes, that stuff you're ogling - that the bacteria living inside them produce. That's what makes them more powerful than bullets or blasters, it's the energy behind them and the process of transfro-'

' Lowell. I'm not going to understand a word of it. Just tell me the _problem_.'

'Well, that gas and the bacteria have been released into the _Iliad._ It ain't grass underfoot, _ragazzina_, it's bacteria. And they're multiplying rapidly. Problem is, when the gun blew, it damaged the environmentals in this room. The gas can't escape, so it's just building up. And then - boom. One flash and we're ash, as they say.'

Meaghan shot her an evil look, 'And you're just standing here, why?'

'If this thing blows, _ragazzina_, it'll take the whole ship out and it won't much matter where we're standing. If you're lucky, Agnarr might do the typical Asgard-zapping-to-safety-thing and take your kid with him. Good choice for a babysitter, come to think of it.'

'It - actually, it's just Agnarr and Blake seem to get a kick out of one another's company for some reason, and frankly Agnarr was the only one I could think off who wasn't likely to have to leave his post if there were trouble...' She was still staring at the growing bacteria. 'So why _Rodney?_'

'Because I'm not one of those people who can't admit when someone else might be able to do something better than I can, even if it happens only very rarely. And this is one of those occasions. He simply knows more about fixing stuffed up environmentals than I do, and he answered his radio before Colonel Carter did. As simple as that, Doctor, as simple as that.'

* * *

McKay knelt in the world of green and asked himself how it was that he always ended up in these circumstances. He was a physicist, for crying out loud, a fact that no-one seemed to remember any more. Okay, so maybe he was an all-round genius as well, but - well, that didn't mean he was that up there with chemistry or biology, or whatever the hell field it was that had gave training to deal with virulent outbursts of gaseous bacteria spawned from Ancient weapons... He'd bet anything that Monahan's brother was somehow behind this, although after she'd grinned like that when he'd kissed her, he thought he'd be willing to even try to like Domenic - or at least, not dislike him.

God, he'd been so petrified! It wasn't that he hadn't kissed women, of course he had, loads of them - well, plenty - well, enough, anyway - but he'd misread the signals before and so then for her to react like _that_, to look like _that_ -

Rodney!

He pulled himself back together with a great deal of effort and reminded himself that he _was _in a small space with a seriously combustible gas and they were probably all going to die and he was supposed to work well in near-death situations.

She'd looked like - _wow_.

Rodney!!

Fine then!

He finished pulling the panel from the wall and fiddled until he'd sealed the room. Great. Now they'd probably suffocate and it would just make the explosion more centralised and probably bigger. But if he could get the air ducts rerouted and get them sucking the gas out to space then it would work well enough. Simple. Except that the damned system wasn't working properly since the blast.

He was really starting to hate this malfunctioning ship!

* * *

Meaghan had sat down amongst the moss - she simply refused to think of it as bacteria - and had almost dozed off (which in a sealed room full of gas probably wasn't all that unexpected) when she suddenly felt a cool blast of air whip around her. She opened her eyes and watched as the green started to ripple on the floors and walls and then be pulled slowly towards one corner of the room. Lowell had explained to her that Rodney had to get the environmentals working. Obviously, he had.

She sprang to her feet and watched as the green was shifted from all the surfaces, revealing boxes, wooden crates, chairs, and a miscellany of tools and lab equipment. Also Dom's stupid floppy hat, which she grinned at. Colonel Sheppard, who really _had_ fallen asleep, blinked awake and grinned back at her - probably presuming that the smile at the hat was meant for him. She shrugged. Whatever.

Because at that moment, she saw Rodney, his face cranky and his hands on his back in that familiar way, telling her that he'd been sitting somewhere uncomfortable. It had taken all her self control to stay away from him - she knew how much he hated being bothered when he was working, and there _was _the small issue of the ship potentially exploding... But now, she ignored everyone else watching, and the fact that the floor was suddenly freezing under her bare feet with the green carpet gone, and hurried to him. The pressure of the air had picked up, making the air a positive whir of green, and her hair and clothes whipped wildly against her.

'Saved the day again I see?' she teased, and he stopped grumbling and stared at her. The air pressure got even greater.

'What the hell are you doing here? Have you been here all the time? What if it had blown up, Meaghan?'

She felt a thrill at her name, so easy, on his lips and grinned at him, not caring about the anger in his voice now that the danger was over, and said, 'Shut up, Rodney,' before slipping her arms around his neck and reaching onto her tippy-toes, and kissing him. Properly...

....'Don't forget to breathe!' shouted Sheppard with a laugh, and Meaghan and Rodney pulled apart, and realised that the room was clean and bare and a few people stood around watching them with amused looks on their faces, while everyone else was looking in another direction, embarrassed, in the way that people do. McKay looked at Meaghan, who was still beaming at him, then looked at the Colonel and said, 'Sheppard - take a hike.' And she squeaked (_she _couldn't help it if she made stupid noises when she was happy) in delight when his hands tightened their grip on her hips, and the scientist bent his head and kissed her a little more...


	23. Something

** _(17 December, Iliad, still tracking the Chancellor...)_ **

It had become a habit for McKay to bring Meaghan her lunch during the time he took off in between working with Sam or Lowell. She expected him, usually, and tried to have herself in some form of order before he arrived. Her bad moods, her sad moments, she'd been trying to keep to herself - after all, there was no point depressing the rest of the world just because she was low. But today, she'd been sitting and watching Blake work on some puzzles that someone had made him, and had lost track of time. She'd put her mp3-player on up-loud and had chosen the Beatles because Blake seemed to like them - although, oddly, he preferred Debussy - and had been in a good mood.

Mostly, in the last few days, she hadn't had time to think. She'd been happy helping Sam, taking her lessons from Agnarr, poking curiously at the inner workings of Rodney's mind. But now, suddenly, she had had time. And at some stage, when she was thinking about the fact that she'd weaned her son a few days earlier, and he hadn't even cared, but had been excited to eat food like Mummy, and use a fork, while she was miserable and her breasts were still protesting... for the first time in days the mental wall she'd built between herself and the reality of her son's aging crumbled.

It wasn't right that this had been done to him. She had avoided doing the maths as much as she could, but now the numbers all came bursting through into her mind. 1 day equals 10 days. 5 days is roughly one year. 100 days is roughly 20 years... It didn't seem possible and it certainly didn't seem fair. If a human could live to 120 years then he had 7240 weeks for his life, more or less - 724 days. An expected lifespan, Doctor Murray had said quietly from beneath his dour moustache, of about two years. Two damn years!

And so she sat and watched him as he sat there, intent on what he was doing, so serious. She'd put a wall up between them (maybe her lessons with Agnarr did have some use) so he wouldn't share her pain, and was crying softly to the music in the background when McKay had come in.

At first, she hadn't heard him. It was obvious that she hadn't heard him, and he almost took the opportunity to go back outside and knock loudly to give her time to compose herself - or maybe not even come back at all. He didn't have the faintest idea where to start with a crying Meaghan. The last time she'd looked like that, he'd ended up punched out by her brother. He _never_ seemed to say the right things. But he bit his lip, put the tray quietly on the table, and went to where she sat and - very cautiously in case she might bite his head off or have some other inexplicable reaction - put his hand on her shoulder. Her reaction _was _inexplicable, but at least it wasn't violent, as she turned at his touch and threw her arms around him and buried her face against his stomach. The tears actually went through his shirt. He patted her awkwardly on the head for a moment, then disentangled himself when her shoulders stopped shaking, and pulled her to her feet and said in what he hoped was a firm voice, 'Now, that's no way to behave in front of the squidget.'

She hiccupped, wiped her face on the inside hem of her shirt and said with a half-smile, 'Sorry. I'm feeling all maudlin. It's just not -'

He put his hand on her mouth and shook his head, 'No. Don't start.'

She managed a bigger smile, against his hand, and then took it in hers, pulling it from her mouth and holding it close, and said, 'Gawd. Lectures on emotional management from _you. _I must be a real head-case.'

'Of course you are,' he agreed with a shrug, and then listened to her music for a moment before saying, 'Beatles again.'

She was amused that he remembered, but said simply, 'Blake likes John Lennon best. I'm more of a George Harrison girl myself.'

McKay smiled suddenly. 'That reminds me. I have an insult to disprove.' And he grabbed her unexpectedly by the shoulders, and just looked at her for a moment in the silent pause between songs, while she stared in complete confusion back. Then _Something_ came on, the lyrics murmuring out of the little piece of tech without so much as a pause, '_Something in the way she moves me, attracts me like no other lover...'_ McKay pulled a slightly irritated face, but then shrugged, slipped his hands more gently around her, then started to dance her to the gentle beat.

'Rodney...' she protested, but at least now her smile looked like she meant it, 'What are you doing?'

He gave her a superior look, 'Dancing, obviously. You said I couldn't, remember? I'm proving you wrong.'

And so he was, surreal as that might be. She relaxed herself a little into his arms, feeling a bit foolish with her tear streaked face and a shirt that had half-Blake-eaten food smattered down the front, and let him lead her. And he _was _dancing. Okay, so perhaps not with the panache and style of Mitchell (though she rather thought that he didn't need to know that), but dancing nevertheless. She breathed out and relaxed completely, put her head against his chest and murmured, 'You are a man of hidden talents, Rodney McKay.'

He grinned into her hair, 'Well you can keep this one to yourself. I can just imagine Sheppard's face.'

She peered up at him, 'Is _that _why you didn't ask me to dance on Locrux? Cause you were embarrassed people would find out you _could_?'

He walked his hand a little along her hip, 'Not exactly. More like - I just - sometimes it takes me a while to...' He didn't finish, but he didn't have to. What an admission, she thought, and held him a little closer to her.

'We _will _find the formula, Meaghan,' he said.

She burrowed her face closer against him, so that he could barely hear her talk when she said, 'You're the only one who really cares. Sending us out in a ship that doesn't even fly properly... and they're only even coming because he has a Sphere.'

He was silent, then, 'I know that. But I promise you, the formula is my priority. I don't want the squidget to keep growing like he is either.'

She turned her head sideways to look at Blake - who was beaming at them, paused in his game - and then up at Rodney, 'You really don't, do you?'

'Is that so surprising?'

She wasn't sure. Actually, all things considered, she rather thought it rather was. But she shook her head, and allowed herself a small white lie, 'No. And I'm glad. He adores _you_. I really think he must know that you're the one who saved him, there's no other explanation. I mean, it's not for your charm and people skills, is it?'

He glared at her, but without real spirit behind it, and muttered, 'Shut up already, and enjoy the moment. I can assure it won't come along again any time soon.'

And for once, she did as she was told, and let herself sink into the music and the feel of his hands.

* * *

** _(18 December)_ **

Mitchell had been right. On two points. One, that John needed a distraction, and two, that the kid was a goddamn natural. He was _wasted _as a biologist. Sure, John had only been teaching him for four days, but already on the second one he'd taken them out into the big open yonder of space, and after a few minutes he'd tentatively handed over the controls. Not that there was anything you could run into in space - well, in theory anyway - but still, it wasn't anything like some of the people he'd taught to fly puddlejumpers... say, McKay?

'Hey, kid,' said John, voice slightly crackled as he spoke through the radio, 'Your sister know you're learning this?'

There was a pregnant pause. 'Not exactly. She's been pretty distracted, what between her lessons, the baby, and the meatball.'

Sheppard snorted, 'The meatball?'

'McKay. The man's a raving lunatic. Do you know this morning he actually went off his brain at me because I asked nicely if I could borrow his screwdriver to two seconds? I mean, it's was a bloody screwdriver, for heaven's sake.'

John chuckled again. _The meatball. _And then he told the kid to put his foot down and go wave at the people in the Bridge.

The kid would be an asset to an SG team in the Pegasus Galaxy.

The Pegasus Galaxy. He wondered if Elizabeth was still 'thinking' about them. Never had there seemed such a huge distance between Earth and Atlantis as there did now. Even further, given how much distance they had put between the _Iliad _and Earth, moving in the opposite direction...

The 302 did a sudden spin and roll and the kid shouted out something exultant, and rather incoherent, which seemed to involve the words _Luke Skywalker_.

'Smart aleck,' muttered the Colonel in a smug voice - damn but he was on hell of a teacher...

* * *

Sheppard and Dom had returned from their break - after all, the ship was now back in hyperspace - and found themselves back in the weapons' bay with Lowell. Dom had gotten sick of her leering at him, and had taken his gun off on his own to coax the bacteria into liking him. Certainly - apart from the small fact that one of them had blown up in his face - him with his gene seemed to be having better luck than she was. Which left John stuck with the odious Lowell.

Calpurnia put down the dirty screwdriver she was using and said suddenly, 'Do you think they've got any lemons on this tub?'

Sheppard, who happened to be the closest, opened his eyes and said dozily, 'You need lemons to work on that thing?'

She rolled her eyes. 'No, _fanciullo_. I want to eat one.'

He looked at her dubiously. For once, she actually didn't sound like she was being sarcastic. 'You eat lemons?' Somehow, she didn't strike him as the postergirl for fruit-consumption, but lemons _were _oddly appropriate.

She picked up a greasy cloth and started rubbing down some long bolts. 'Sure. Who doesn't?'

'Well... I don't. And McKay. McKay's allergic to them. All things citrus, actually. Oranges, lemons, damn, probably kumquats for all I know.'

'Kumquats? Well, really. I knew there was something wrong with him the moment I laid eyes on him.' And she started whistling a Dolly Parton tune as though that piece of knowledge had just made her day. Sheppard, meanwhile, was completely and utterly astonished. How could _anyone _have coexisted with Rodney McKay and not have known that he had a citrus allergy? It was - unthinkable. It went against the laws of - of - the universe at large! He was vaguely envious.

She glanced at him, read the thoughts as they crossed behind his eyes, and then said, '_Fanciullo_, I live in a basement, back in Atlantis. There are whole crops of miscellaneous and useless facts that pass me blissfully by. Why'd do you think I agreed to go to the Pegasus Galaxy in the first place, huh? Sweet, sweet isolation.'

Suddenly Dom let out a triumphant shout. John turned to see him jump to his feet, heave the gun up in both hands - and then there was a loud click and instantly a godawful hole appeared in the wall at the other end of the cargo bay. A hole the size of a small VW beetle. Mitchell came running, stared at the kid with the gun - honestly, it was almost as big as he was - and then at the hole, and said, 'You are _so _lucky that's another cargo bay and not somebody's quarters.'

Colonel Cautley, who had happened to be passing, appeared in the doorway, grinned as boyishly as Mitchell and said, 'You are so lucky that wasn't the external wall.'

The horror that swamped Dom's face (clearly it had been good luck rather than good management) made them all laugh, and then Cautley added, 'So, boys - Lowell - I see you've got them to work.' He glanced around, 'And minus Doctor McKay. Oh, he will be pleased. Where is our resident physicist?'

Dom grinned, 'Working on data for Sam, on his laptop, in Meggle's quarters. Babysitting the little tyke while she has her spoon-bending lessons with Agnarr. Ohhh, will he be peeved or what?'

Lowell shrugged, 'Sure. I'm pleased for your ego, _bello_, but one gun ain't gunna do much. Now you've got another five to be working on.'

He shrugged right back at her, 'Just you watch. Now I've got my hand in...'

* * *

Meaghan reached out her fingers, a concentrated expression on her face, and the cup actually rattled on the panel. She scrunched her fingers into a fist in frustration, and said loudly, 'I can't do it! We've been at this for _days_ now and it's not working.'

'You made it move,' replied Agnarr, unruffled.

She glared at him, 'I did that much on day one! And since then, zippo. It's not happening!'

Agnarr blinked at her, 'Are you implying that I am _wrong _about your advancement?'

'Yes! No! I -' she rubbed her eyes and realised that everyone in the Bridge was watching them. Again. God, they were better than television, if the amount of staring people did was anything to go by. 'Do we _really _have to do this _here_?' she murmured.

He looked offended, 'Of course. I have my duty to attend to. Extending your mind is simply a secondary interest.'

_Annoying, arrogant little - _

She breathed in sharply.

'Oh my god,' she managed to say, and stared above him. In her anger, she'd not even realised she'd done it, but suddenly a heavy manual from the podium had been lifted and hung above the Asgard as though her subconscious mind was planning on dropping it on his head with a thump. She reached out gingerly and plucked it from the air, while he just blinked and said smugly, 'You see?'

* * *

** _(20 December)_ **

Colonel Cautley looked genuinely impressed. 'And you say that they are all operational? In just three days?'

'Yessir.'

Mitchell and Sheppard beamed as though they had done the work instead of sitting around playing UNO and hacky sack. Oh, and basketball; the large room made a great basketball court.

Lowell clacked her gum, 'You get six hulkin' great dummies to carry 'em, and you got yourself a small army, Colonel. You've seen the damage they do.' She pointed back at the wall, with its still gaping hole. 'Of course, it'd help if they had the gene. The little bacteria get a bit miffy otherwise.'

'And blow up?'

'No. I've said it once, I've said it again. That was _fatigue_. They just get peeved and don't shoot so well, is all.'

He shook his head and shrugged slightly. 'Right. Well - Sheppard, Mitchell, Monahan, you can start honing your skills with them, and I'll round you up three more.'

'Me?' Dom blinked.

Cautley put his hands on his hips, 'Did you think we've been dropping out of hyperspace for you to take joyrides just for the fun of it, son?'

Dom rolled his eyes, 'No offence, but we've been dropping out of hyperspace because they sent us in a malfunctioning ship.'

'Fine. Are you telling me you don't want the job? They sent me undermanned on this ridiculous voyage, and I have a score to settle for the reputation of my battlecruiser. I'm offering you a job.'

Dom grinned, 'I want the job, sir!'

The Colonel grinned and left the room.

Lowell cackled, 'I thought you were against the US military, _bello_?'

'I am - but that doesn't mean I have to dislike the individuals in it and - and these are way cool weapons...'


	24. Across The Universe

** _(20 December, Daedalus, en route to Atlantis)_ **

Elizabeth sat in the space that she had found herself during her first few days back on the _Daedalus, _and cradled a cup of coffee. She didn't drink the coffee, because at some stage it had gone cold, but on the other hand she couldn't bear to put it down either. And so she sat, and held it, and stared out at the nothingness of hyperdrive... such a muddle of colour playing beyond the viewport in front of her.

Her ´space´ was in a small room off the corridor with the laundries - it was relatively quiet, and people, if they saw here there, tended to leave her in peace. She needed peace, still, needed time and room to try and work things through. She hadn't been lying when she had spoken to John, hadn't been using a euphemism when she'd told him she wanted to think it all through. She genuinely _was _thinking about them. Still, after seven days with nothing to do but think and cradle cold cups of coffee, she hadn't reached any amazing conclusions. The fact was, she loved the man literally to distraction - and that was the problem. Nothing new there, she'd already known that much before she'd left Earth. If truth be told, she'd already known it for some months now. But knowing something isn't the same as knowing what to do about it. She couldn't imagine a life without him in it - but she couldn't see how they could continue on as they were.

No. That was just it. They _couldn't _continue on as they were. Things had to change, or they had to end. And she didn't want them to end, so -

But it wasn't that simple. It never is. She was determined to keep her position. And although he'd said he'd step down, she firstly didn't really believe that he'd thought through the repercussions of that statement, and secondly she didn't want to be the cause of him doing it. Despite his protestations of humility, she knew that deep down he was terribly proud of having gotten to the position he had, that he'd proven his self-worth in a military that didn't exactly look on him in the kindest light. Though, to this day, she wasn't exactly sure just how much he knew about the role she had played in his promotion... Certainly, she'd never spoken about it to him.

After a fashion, the whole conundrum was rather ironic. Simon had left her because he couldn't put her first above all else, and now she was torturing John because he _could_. Maybe there was some truth in what men said about women being fickle creatures after all... She focused her eyes back on the colour beyond the viewport. Hyperdrive really was too much for a human mind to truly deal with. She had enough trouble just dealing with normal air travel. After all, it didn't matter where you were flying to on Earth, you went in one airport and exited another - probably the two of them almost identical - with nothing but the airless, (for all intentions purposes) motionless, and often uncomfortable stretch in between. Yes, planes were artificial enough, let alone the _Daedalus_. Boats now - boats you could truly understand as a journey with a start, a beginning, and an end. Boats made perfect sense.

Suddenly her radio was mumbling at her in a familiar voice, and she blinked, shifted the coffee in her hands and acknowledged, 'Weir here, Zelenka.'

The Czech's voice was cautious, 'I was wondering if you would help with some translation, Doctor Weir?'

She smiled. Finally. Back to something she was good at. All at once, she'd had enough of staring out at blue nothingness, and it obviously wasn't helping her, anyway. She stood up decisively, put the mug down on the chair, ran her hands along her slacks and said, 'Give me three minutes, Doctor Zelenka, and I'll be there. Weir out.'

* * *

When the _Iliad _had beamed up her people from Locrux, it had also beamed up the fourth team that had been sent - of scientists and marines - to obtain the tech from the Ancient lab that the President most desperately coveted, just in case his plan with the treaties didn't work. Of course, the plan _had _worked. General Landry had radioed the _Daedalus_ just before they'd gone out of range, to tell them that a negotiation team had in fact arrived successfully on Locrux (apparently the stargate had been cleared of rubble), and had helped put the President's favoured minority into power. Somehow she thought it was a little unjust that he hadn't helped the Naturists, since without their help they would never have gotten their people out, or had the chance to track the Chancellor down, but - but that was politics for you.

However, the fact that his plan had worked didn't mean that he had any intention of giving the tech stolen from the Ancient lab back. Officially, there had never been _any _teams on the planet at all during the brief Civil War, except the few remaining members of the archaeological expedition. Nor had the _Iliad _ever been in the vicinity.

History has always been written by the victors.

The vast majority of tech had of course been sent to R&amp;D on Earth, but during the incredibly quick stock take that was undertaken in the twenty-four hours between the _Iliad's _arrival and the _Daedalus' _departure; a few items had stood out as being worth taken directly to Atlantis.

And it was these items that her men had been working on for the last seven days while she sat and stared our viewports and cradled coffee...

* * *

Elizabeth entered the lab that Carson and Radek had been allocated, and looked at them with a sudden burst of happiness. It was still good to see them both alive and well, after what they had been put through, and incredible to think what a short time ago it had been. If she had many complaints about Locrux, she couldn't at any rate fault the effectiveness of their medicines.

Despite the fact that he had only just radioed her, Doctor Zelenka was already deeply absorbed back in his work, and didn't even notice her enter. Nor did Carson, for a minute, but then he glanced up absently from the microscope he'd been looking through, to give his eyes a break, and smiled to see her standing there. 'Elizabeth. You'll be pleased to know that the data really _does _describe a virus just like the scientists in the SGC thought it did.'

She gave him one of her curt, serious nods to show that she was paying attention, and looked curiously at the computer screen in front of him (which was showing an enlarged image of what he could see through the scope), as though those images meant something to her, before saying, 'So tell me what I'm seeing here. What are we dealing with? Is this _seriously_ aimed at making wraith human, just like the virus that you developed?'

He nodded. ‘Aye, that it is. According to the notes, not all the Lanteans who returned to the Milky Way Galaxy were particularly happy with the fact that they'd just upped and left their home swarming with wraith. It was one of those malcontents who had a go at the same thing that I did. It makes sense. I mean, if _I _could think of it, then obviously the Ancients could too.' He smiled self-effacingly.

She met his smile, and then looked a little closer at his work, before asking, 'And this is - what? An improved version?'

'Well -' he paused, 'Obviously not, or else the Ancient developing it would have gone back to Atlantis and put it to use, I'd imagine. But - it does appear that it wouldn't need constant re-application like the retrovirus I developed. It is _possible_ that the researcher was simply interrupted in his work. According to those who were in the lab on Locrux, it looked as though one day everyone simply went home and never returned. We already know that the Ancients in our galaxy pretty much vanished into the woodwork, so...'

She raised an eyebrow, 'You think someone shut him down, don't you? Just like was done with Janus and his time travel research? But - but that would presuppose there was something dangerous about this virus.'

He nodded, and looked a little frustrated, 'Exactly. And that's what's bothering me. It just seems too perfect. And - I'm sorry, but I can't help but think that every single time we play with this kind of thing, it ends horribly. Look at what happened with the Hoffans. And as for my own virus - Michael - everything -' he shook his head. 'We keep imagining that we can do something better with a concept that even the Ancients gave up on and that arrogance keeps causing us trouble...'

Zelenka suddenly glanced up from his work and said, 'He has spent all morning second-guessing himself, Doctor Weir. I think maybe this is a better virus than he wants to admit, and he just does not want to take the chance that _maybe _something goes wrong again.' At which point the Czech and the Scot exchanged a look that told Elizabeth that the two normally mild-tempered men (or at least, in comparison to some other people she could think of) had been going over this particular disagreement for quite some time. She took a deep breath, smiled at them both encouragingly, before saying, 'Keep working on it, Carson. Maybe he did just get interrupted, maybe this is the perfect solution to all our problems - even the ones we made ourselves, with Michael's virus - and if it isn't? Well, we want to know that too, right?'

Carson nodded in resignation, and put his eyes back to the microscope while Elizabeth walked around the bench to where Zelenka stood, and asked with another smile, 'So, Doctor. What was it that you radioed me to help you translate?'

He glanced at her. Radek Zelenka, if truth be told, had come over the last few years to master the Ancient language more than sufficiently to understand the texts he was working on. But he simply couldn't deal with the thought of her sitting there and staring blankly in front of herself like she had been since they had come on board. He knew she was having problems with the Colonel - _everyone _knew that, privacy was a luxury they were not permitted - but he also knew that seven days was long enough and that she would be happier if she were doing something. And since he considered her his friend (friendship was funny in Atlantis, it was something rarely spoken about, was just there), he wanted to see her happy.

So now, in answer to her question, he pushed a small pile of texts towards her and said, 'If you would translate these? I am working on the more technical document, but it would be helpful if you could do these for me.'

And she rewarded him with a smile, and pulled up a stool beside him, and a few minutes later had a blank sheet of paper in front of her, the text in one hand, and her pen in the other moving with speed and skill across the page, only pausing every now and then to double back and cross something out, or insert a more appropriate word, or to add a verb that in Ancient had come at the end of the phrase, but in English needed to come at the start.

For a few seconds he just watched her, impressed by his own subtle ingenuity and the buried himself back in his own work and within fifteen minutes had completely forgotten she was even there.

For the first time in over a week, Elizabeth was content. She wasn't thinking about John, she wasn't thinking about Atlantis, she wasn't even thinking about the various complications that the Monahans (all three of them!) were going to cause if and when the SGC really did let them all come to the Pegasus Galaxy, depending on how the whole business with Ba'al turned out.

No, with her work in front of her, all there was were words, and translation, and words, and all the rest of it could be worried about some other time.

Someone, at some stage, should really give Zelenka a medal.


	25. I Got A Woman

** _(21 December, Iliad, still following Ba'al...)_ **

If there was only one thing more disturbing than a narky McKay, the crew of the _Iliad_ soon learning, it was a smugly happy McKay. He'd been wafting around the ship with an arrogant I-have-all-the-answers-and-am-more-than-willing-to-educate-the-ignorant face ever since the weapon had exploded three days earlier and Meaghan had very publicly kissed him. He was even more insufferable than before, as though by publicly admitting her feelings for him she had both validated his claims of superiority and confirmed his manliness.

Of course, Sheppard thought it was hugely funny and had made up a great ream of McKay-and-Meaghan jokes (though he had to be careful her brother wasn't around, because a particularly crude one had actually earnt him a black eye - despite the fact that he protested that the kid had slipped in under his guard unexpectedly and would never _normally_ have made contact). But the jokes flowed over McKay like so much water from a duck's back, because with his improved mood, his sarcastic wit had been sharpened to such a fine blade that he could demolish John with just a few well-chosen words. (Admittedly, the sound of Sheppard and Mitchell singing _Rodders and Meggie sitting in a tree, K-I-double-S-I-N-G_ was almost a bit much...) Even her irritating brother couldn't get him too down, though the sight of them yelling at one another had become annoyingly common to everyone else. No, McKay was in such a good mood that even those confrontations were oddly enjoyable. He _liked_ arguing - and admittedly the biologist's brain was sufficient enough that the arguments were at least interesting.

In fact, Rodney McKay was probably the closest thing to blissfully happy that he'd been in many a year. Only her sometimes sinking into doubt about the formula and the boy bothered him, but he was feeling pretty invincible and was oddly optimistic - uncharacteristically optimistic, actually - that they would somehow manage it.

No, the only fly in Rodney's ointment was small and grey and highly irritable. And it was obvious that Agnarr thought no more highly of Rodney that he did of Agnarr. Not that he had _ever _gotten on particularly well with Asgards - arrogant little know-it-alls - but this one was particularly annoying.

Sam was still working on the general faults ridding the ship and so Rodney - now he had been freed up from the weapons - had been put on to the issue of the hyperdrive. He'd explained to Cautley that there was obviously more than just one thing wrong with it (after all, it had been malfunctioning even _before_ Ba'al had messed with it), but the Colonel had just shrugged and said, 'I don't care if there are ten things wrong with it. The tracer on the Chancellor has finally stopped moving around and I'm hoping that means this goose-chase is coming to an end. If he stays where he is right now, then I'd estimate that we'll be there in four days at the most and I will _not _go into battle with a malfunctioning weapon, Doctor, and the _Iliad_ is the best weapon we have...'

All very well and good for him to say, humph.

And as for Agnarr! Rodney completely failed to see how Meaghan put up with him for her gobbledygook lessons - let alone why the squidget was so completely smitten with him.

Said Asgard was at this very moment watching Rodney, obviously annoyed. 'Doctor McKay. We have run this scenario three times already. Running it a fourth time will not alter results. As I have told Colonel Carter repeatedly, the problem is in the human-made components. Your kind simply cannot read schematics effectively.'

Rodney glared at him, 'Oh, yeah? Well, I'd thank you not to lump me in with that because so far as I know, not a single Canadian was involved in constructing this bucket of bolts. If _we'd_ done it, there wouldn't be a problem, would there?'

Agnarr blinked at him, 'Your petty political borders are of no interest to me. Humans are humans.'

Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, 'Oh, and I suppose Asgards are all unique and wonderful. Hello, aren't you the clones? At least we've mastered the basics of meiosis. You know asexual reproduction is an evolutionary disaster, right?'

The Asgard made a snorting noise, 'At least we are not a _mere _accumulation of mutations.'

'Mutations! They're hardly mutations!'

He jumped at the feel of a hand on his waist, and then Meaghan was laughing and saying, 'Don't advertise your biological ignorance, Rodney. Of course they're mutations. It's just scientists like you prefer to call them adaptations when they happen to work in what we consider to be our favour.'

Then she beamed at Agnarr and watched as Blake walked right past McKay with a 'hello' grin and a blast of gold, climbed the step to the Asgard's podium, and threw his arms around the spindly grey legs. She always thought it looked like he would make the Asgard topple over. He had his hair in a right mess (it curled at his shoulders now - McKay had complained that it made him look like a girl, but she thought it was terribly cute) and his clothes were all awry because he had proudly dressed himself. His Asgard dolly poked out the top of the pouch she'd made for him to hang around his neck. She never knew if the sight of him made her go soft with happiness, or soft with tears at how much he - and she - were missing out on.

As usual, the Asgard blinked in continuous astonishment at the display of affection - though he placed his hand a little awkwardly on the child's dark curls in reciprocation - and then snapped, 'Doctor Monahan, you are early for your lesson. You should not arrive before it is scheduled. Doctor McKay is of little use to me at the best of times, but in your presence he is a complete waste of space.'

A few people in the Bridge - included Colonel Cautley - snickered at the comment, and McKay went a little red in indignation, 'I am _not_. I can think perfectly well. And - hey!' He suddenly leant down and scooped up the squidget, who had managed, God only knew how, to climb up the tool boxes onto the podium control panel itself. McKay looked at him crossly, 'Not little boys!' he snapped.

Meaghan rolled her eyes at him, 'Use proper sentences, Rodney. If and when he does take up talking, prepositions and verbs would be nice.'

But neither McKay nor Agnarr heard her complaint, because they were both too busy staring - and _both _of them blinking in surprise - at the panel where Blake had sat thumping buttons for a few brief seconds a moment earlier.

'That's not possible!' muttered McKay, and moved closer for a look, Blake squirming contentedly in his arms.

'And yet,' said the Asgard, 'It appears to have happened.'

Meaghan looked from one to the other, and then at her son, whose mind was beaming in an unusually smug colour, before demanding, 'What? One of you tell me what you're looking at.'

McKay ignored her for a few minutes, watching Agnarr press various combinations of buttons, and then said, shocked, 'It's fixed. Days and days and days of Sam and me working on it -' (Agnarr gave him a look) '-oh, and him too, and nothing, and then the squidge thuds it and bingo! It works...'

She struggled to follow him, 'You're saying we won't drop out of hyperspace any more?' She grinned, 'Oh, Dom'll be peeved. He won't get any more of those flying lessons that he thinks I don't know about.'

McKay stared at her, 'You're being remarkably sanguine about this. You don't find it even a little bit surprising? This isn't an Ancient ship. How could he do that?'

Now it was her turn to give him a look, 'How should I know? Maybe when he hugged Agnarr, he picked up what was wrong, and decided to fix it.'

'He's two and a half! He can't fix a hyperdrive fault! And it's not ATA!'

Colonel Cautley had come over, and was grinning, 'You know, I don't really care. I'm just glad it's done.'

But they all ignored him, and Meaghan exclaimed back at Rodney, 'Maybe it was intuitive! And how many times do I have to tell you that it doesn't have to be ATA? I've read what the Ori could do, and I doubt they all had the gene, hm? And seriously, McKay, I can't even begin to understand how my son's mind works. But at the moment he seems pretty pleased with himself. You know he likes puzzles. Maybe this was a puzzle to him. Maybe - maybe it was something dead simple that none of you thought of because you were too busy arguing about asexual evolution! Which, by the way, can actually be a quite successful evolutionary path, if you want to know. Not as much fun, I would imagine - no offence meant, Agnarr - but effective.'

McKay looked slightly beaten. He didn't like it when unexplained things happened. 'How'd he do it, but?'

She grinned at him, reached up and kissed him on the cheek and said, 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Rodney, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'

He looked at her.

'"Hamlet", McKay.'

'_I_ know that, I'm just surprised you do.'

'_You _know "Hamlet_"_, but you don't think _I _wouldn't?!'

‘I went to school too, you know. And besides, I've only ever seen you reading rubbish fantasy.'

She opened her mouth to launch into an acerbic response when Agnarr made a loud noise and said, 'This is _exactly_ what I'm talking about. Doctor McKay, please take Blake and leave Doctor Monahan with me for her lessons. She is just as easily distracted as you are...'

* * *

Meaghan came back late to her quarters from her lesson and for a moment, in the dark, she didn't think anyone was there at all. Then her eyes adjusted to the small light from a subdued lamp on the far wall, and she realised that McKay had fallen asleep sprawled on her bed, Blake sprawled likewise on Rodney's stomach, a great pile of maths puzzles that they must have been doing together scattered on the floor nearby. For a moment she just felt a warm silly smile rise from the depths of her stomach at how wonderfully domesticated they looked, then she wondered more pragmatically that the boy hadn't rolled on the floor, or that Rodney hadn't rolled on the boy... and noticed that Rodney snored slightly. She made a mental note to that to herself with a grin, and then went and scooped up Blake, took him to the bathroom, and some fifteen minutes later put him to bed in his jammies - and still asleep during the whole process in that extraordinary way that only _very_ small children can manage.

Then she went and perched on the edge of her bed and watched Rodney sleep for a moment. It was incredible, really, to think that he was even here. To think, what he had come to mean to her. When she thought about how she had fought against it... She wondered if he was as deeply asleep as Blake was, and pushed him gently. He grunted, and muttered something unintelligible. She kissed him on the forehead, and whispered, 'I love you, you silly great bear.' Then she realised what she'd done and bit her lip.

A sleepy hand reached out for her, and he murmured, 'I know.'

God, typical Rodney. 'You know?' she asked with a smile, shoving him over against the wall and lying down beside him, her hand on his chest. She could tell that he was only groggily surfacing from his sleep, and not very successfully at that. His wandering hand pulled her closer though. 'Rodney,' she whispered in his ear, 'Are you trying to be Han Solo, or is that your honest-to-God response?'

He blinked at her, rolled onto his side awkwardly - the beds on the _Iliad _weren't really made with two in mind - and said sleepily, 'You know what I mean.' Then he actually managed to focus on her in the dingy light, a pained expression on his face as his brain processed the amusement on hers and their conversation up till this point. 'Well...' he managed slowly, the wandering hand having come to a halt on her waist, slightly up inside her shirt against her back, 'It's the truth. I _do _know that you love me.'

She grinned, raised herself upon onto an elbow, and his hand moved a little higher beneath her shirt. 'Okay. So that's nice. And now it's your turn to spill the beans. Leastways I think that's how it's traditionally done.'

He looked put-out, mauled his bottom lip, then finally said, 'I - I've never had someone say that - I mean - sure, yes - but - not like _that_, with the voice you use and - I know I'm supposed to respond in kind and be all wow-like-the-movies but - but it's a big thing you know and I'm just not -' he trailed off and looked vaguely nervous at the thought that she was about to get cross and throw him out. And he _really _hoped she wasn't going to throw him out, because he was _more_ than happy here on her bed with her next to him and his hand wandering freely...

She shook her head at him, but was still smiling, 'You know, Rodney-'

Then she paused, lay back down beside him and said with her lips almost brushing his ears, 'You want to hear how I know I love you?' May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. And it was obvious that all logical rules had been thrown right out of her life since Locrux. May as well be unorthodox on this one too...

Silence, then he made an affirmative noise and she saw him smiling smugly into the dark.

She tapped him on the nose with a finger, 'I know I love you because of all the utter crap that I put up with from you that I wouldn't take from anyone else. I know I love you because I actually catch myself siding with you in arguments against my brother, which let me tell you doesn't happen much. I know I love you because I care about you even when we're arguing. And _because_ it's not all wow-like-in-the-movies... I've never trusted that all that much anyway. Sure, it's fun, but... But with you I'm just so comfy. Like you've always been here, and always should be. I know that's dull and pragmatic, but I think it's love and it's strong and I couldn't imagine the thought of how I would live without your annoying self in my life... And I can't believe I'm telling you already but maybe it's looking at Blake that makes me feel like time is passing more quickly and so...'

She paused. God. She'd meant to end after the first sentence, not ramble on. He was silent, and for a moment she was scared he was going to freak out and leave. And _really _hoped he wasn't going to leave because she was _more _than happy here on her bed with him next to her and his hand wandering freely...

He shook his head at her, and then turned his head to kiss her in the semi-darkness.

'Oh, and Rodney?' she whispered when he finally let her go, 'I actually like your answer well enough. At least you're honest. Kirking's over-rated.' Fun, of course, but that wasn't the point she was trying to get across...

He paused, a half-smirk on his face, 'You don't want to be kirked?'

She grinned at him slowly as his hands finally left her back and traced around up her belly. 'Well - a little kirking from the right guy never hurt a girl, if you wanna try your hand at it.'

He pushed her onto her back and looked at her with his blue-grey eyes darkening, one wandering hand having come to rest gently on the skin where he could feel her heart pound, and asked, 'You really don't mind my answer?'

She groaned, 'Of course I mind, you great duffer. But on the other hand, I'd prefer to know where I stand.'

He grinned wickedly, an expression she would have expected to see on Sheppard's face perhaps, or Mitchell's, but not on his, as he said, 'Right now, actually, you're lying. So shut up and let me kirk you a little, woman.'

She beamed, 'Watch it, genius.'

His hand convulsed against her and he kissed her again, the other hand knotting itself into her hair and his lips moving down to the sweet spot on her neck and for a while it was just him and his hands until - suddenly and unexpectedly - he started to tickle her. She screeched at him, and almost fell off the bed, laughing uncontrollably and yelling, 'Damn it, Rodney, who told you?' when he got just _that _spot that tickled so bad that it hurt, and the tears ran down her face. He grinned, and kissed them. 'Call me psychic. But I had to do something to distract myself from the temptation you present. Now go to sleep like a good girl.'

She smiled warmly at him, 'I apologise for the numerous occasions that I said you weren't a gentleman, Rodney.'

He snorted, 'Trust me, I'm not. But I was reading your childbirth book - which I might add should have a warning about being mentally scaring - and it's less than a fortnight since you had the squidget and so...'

She curled up against him. 'Thank you.'

'Don't mention it,' he muttered gruffly, and then wriggled over against the wall and put his arms around her as she lay against him. He lay awake until her breathing deepened and she made soft little breathy noises that told him she was asleep. Then he kissed her on the neck ever so gently and whispered, 'I think I might love you too, Meaghan Monahan.'

And though he couldn't see it as he shifted uncomfortably to try to get to sleep himself, the girl smiled contentedly to herself in the dark.


	26. Baby It's You

_ **(23 December, ** _ _ **Iliad.)** _

_Blake's blood work. Blake's blood work._ It had taken them such an unexpected quantity of time to finally get the blood work tested and checked that she had almost completely forgotten about it. Carson had accepted Blake as his, and she had pushed him right out of the equation, because it was too complex to deal with. In her own mind, the child was hers alone. At least, that was how she had seen it. And now - now they had finally contacted her with the results and she understood why they had taken so long with it. The doctor had had such an odd look on his face when she'd entered the room in her grubby t-shirt that she'd felt the floor drop away beneath her. _Oh, God, more bad news..._

Half an hour later, Meaghan sat in the curve of her viewport and stared out at a large brown planet that they happened to have dropped out of hyperdrive above. It was pocked with craters so large that they could be seen from where they orbited. It was solitary, just there, no moons or gas rings or anything else. It was strange to think of a planet that wouldn't have a moon when you looked up in the night sky. She wondered vaguely what that would do to the oceans, if there were any. The moon had something to do with the tides, right?

She pressed her head against the glass and tried to keep her brain occupied. Not think about Blake, sitting with his Asgard dolly hanging out of his mouth by one arm, and drawing with a large blue crayon on paper spread out across the floor. Not think about the Doctor looking at her curiously and asking her _exactly_ what Argennos had told her about his construction of her baby. No - she stared out the window and looked at the stars and thought, instead, about the fact that this wasn't the night sky that her mother looked up at. She wondered what her mother would make of the sudden arrival of Blake. If - she shook her head, and corrected herself desperately - _when _they found the formula, _God, Rodney had promised they would_, when they found the formula she wanted to try and get her mother clearance. There was no way to explain Blake in any other way. He was too obviously her son for her to simply claim she'd adopted him, even if she had wanted to, which she didn't. He had too many of her features.

His features! She jumped suddenly to her feet and knelt on the ground in front of him, staring at him wide-eyed until he looked up and blinked at her, then shot her a Mum-you're-in-my-face-and-I'm-busy colour. Oh, Lord, it was so very obvious! It had quite literally been staring at her in the face all that time. They'd been on the _Iliad_ almost fifteen days - technically, her son was already three, at least as far as Doctor Murray was concerned. His face wasn't the clean slate of a baby's any more. It was becoming a boy's. A boy's face, and looking less and less like her, and more and more like - oh, God, how blind they'd all been. It just proved the extraordinary power of preconceived ideas.

Doctor Murray had asked her to take a seat. Then he'd made it an order and she obeyed grudgingly. 'What exactly are you a doctorate in, Doctor Monahan?' he'd asked.

She'd looked at him, 'Linguistics and palaeoanthropology.'

'Then you'd have a rudimentary understanding of genetics, correct?'

She'd nodded. 'Yes. Layman's compared to yours, of course, but I grasp more than just the basics.'

'Good. Now tell me exactly what Argennos told you about the process he used to make your son.'

She'd looked at him again, a little surprised by the question, but answered, 'He explained that he'd been studying Carson and I. He said that he'd taken DNA samples from everyone to find out the differences between artificial and natural manifestation of the ATA gene. He said that he'd concluded that, biologically, there weren't any. He explained he'd given himself the gene. Then he said that he'd taken our DNAs and made Blake -'

The Doctor halted her, 'Did he actually ever say _whose _DNA he'd combined with yours?'

She stared at him. 'I don't understand. Carson's, obviously - I - ' she paused, sudden horror writhing through her, 'Oh my God, it wasn't his own?' She couldn't think of anything worse. She loved Blake to distraction, but if that beast had -

The Doctor had simply been silent for a moment, and then pushed the paternity results across the table.

She looked at them.

Wrinkled her nose.

Picked up the sheets and traced the familiar box of the results with her finger.

'You _can _read that, right?' he double-checked.

She ignored him. Of course she could read it. It was the easiest thing in the world.

Oh, God.

It explained so much.

Explained why she'd never thought Blake looked like Carson.

Explained why Argennos had been so indifferent to sewing the Scotsman up.

Explained the way that Blake had reacted to him.

Damn it, it even explained the maths.

Oh, God. And the orange juice...

She stared at the sheet and then back up at the Doctor, 'You're saying that Doctor McKay is Blake's biological father?'

It even explained how she'd known he was alive. All this time, she'd made the assumption that the baby had gone gold because of her, across the distance in the hospital. But he hadn't. He'd gone gold because he'd known his father held him in his arms, just like he knew she was his mother...

He shrugged, 'Do you want to tell him, or shall I?'

* * *

Meaghan spent the next half dozen hours working like a mad-woman with Sam. She knew nothing about anything that was being done, but she was perfectly capable of handing over tools as they were required, and it freed up someone more qualified to be doing other things to - well, go and do those other things. Since their argument - well, her outburst and Sam's amused response - Meaghan had realised she quite liked the astrophysicist and enjoyed her company. And right now, she was the only person on the ship she could bear to be near who wouldn't ask her penetrating questions about the reason for her mood. She'd radioed Rodney, told him she was busy, and he'd said that was okay, he was in the middle of working on his laptop - so much so that it hadn't even occurred to ask her about the results, even though he was only babysitting in the first place because of them. She'd told him to remember to look at Blake once in a while and make sure he wasn't building an atom bomb or something, and then had severed the connection, realising with shock the deeper implications of her black humour. How many other things had she said, like that, carelessly, which revealed how like McKay Blake was?

She was terrified at how he'd react. Sure, he liked Blake. He'd even got quite attached to him, probably to his own surprise more than anyone else's. And it wasn't as though she hadn't caught herself imagining what it would be like to live together as a family (probably they'd end up arguing each other to death). But it had just _been _imagination. Just for a start, she knew there was a good chance Blake's childhood wouldn't last that long. And now - now she was petrified to think that Rodney was going to imagine she'd somehow - entrapped him or something. It was stupid, but he was like that. And she knew how badly he dealt with the unexpected, sometimes, and she had been happy the way things were, if only Blake stopped growing and now -

Sam was looking at her strangely, 'Are you okay?'

The Australian started back to reality, 'Sure.'

'I asked you to pass me the conductor.'

'This fella?'

'Yeah.'

Meaghan obliged, and knew she probably looked suspiciously like she'd been caught with her hands in the cookie jar.

'You sure you're okay?'

* * *

It was late when she finally braced herself and returned to her quarters, the folded paternity test results burning hot in her pocket. A mess of bowls and food on the table told her that Blake had been unwillingly fed, and a large quantity of water on the floor near the washroom said he'd even been bathed. Wonders would never cease, the scientist was getting domesticated - though admittedly, the chores were all that much less onerous since Blake had suddenly decided he'd had enough of nappies and toilet trained himself over night, a few days back. She smiled wryly. There were some perks to having an advanced son.

All over the floor were strewn sheets of paper and crayons, a mix of simple pictures, and the formulas that McKay got such delight out of getting the boy to work on. McKay himself had fallen asleep in a chair, his laptop left balanced precariously on his knees, and his neck at an angle that she was pretty sure was going to hurt like hell when he woke up. She started quietly cleaning up the mess her two blokes had made in her absence, stacking plates silently as she watched him. She loved seeing him like this - so homeish, so domesticated - not arguing, not freaking out, not trying to single-handedly save the world. She wondered if it would all change when she showed him the paper in her pocket, if it would all fall apart. She understood what this sort of thing could do to a relationship - if you could even call the few days they had been together really a relationship... She had this uncle on her mother's side. His first wife had refused to divorce him, and so he'd lived with 'the other woman' for twenty five years, had three kids with her. 'The other woman' had been more than understanding about it. But when his first wife had unexpectedly died, and his de facto had suggested tentatively that he make an honest woman of her - he'd left. Twenty five years and the thought of a piece of paper was too much. _Not _that she was asking McKay to marry her. But sudden change did terrible things - sudden change, and despite the fact that she felt they'd been there forever, because of what she saw when she looked at Blake, it had only been _days_...

She realised she was staring at him, dishes in her hand, and that he'd woken up and was gazing right back. He yawned, looked at his watch, and said grumpily, 'You took your time.' He switched off the laptop, put it on the edge of the table, and then rubbed painfully at his neck, 'I have _got _to stop doing that.'

Then he looked at her. She was still staring at him. 'You're going to drop those plates, you know.'

She shook, and put them back on the table, wiped her hands nervously on her pants.

He yawned again, stood upright, and said, ruffling her hair affectionately, 'I think I'm going to go. I need sleep.' As nice as it was to curl up with her on her bed, it gave him one hell of a backache, and so they hadn't made a habit of it. Besides, he _was _male and when all he could do was _sleep_ beside her in the most literal sense of the word, he couldn't _really _see the point. And besides, he needed his own special mattress. Now he shook his head, 'Hello? Earth calling Meaghan?'

'We need to talk,' she said suddenly, face hard.

He cringed a little at her tone of voice and tried to think of what it was that he might have done _this _time. She saw his expression, walked around the table and asked suddenly, 'Oh, God, Rodney, am I such an ogre?'

He blinked, now thoroughly confused, and shook his head.

She placed her hands flat on his chest and said in an earnest voice, 'You know I care about you, right?'

He nodded, silent under the intensity of her words, and she added quickly, ‘I just want to be clear on that point, nothing more.'

He looked cautious.

Her hands closed into fists on her his chest, 'Well say something!'

He shrugged, 'Okay, great, so I'm clear on that point. I know you're wild about me-' (any other time she would have grinned or poked her tongue out at him, or probably hit him, but now she just nodded curtly) '-and you're starting to worry me. What's the matter?'

'They finally got Blake's blood work done.'

He looked concerned, 'Was there an anomaly?'

She almost smiled, 'You could say that. Rodney, you might want to sit down or something.'

'Meaghan. I'm sure I'm more than capable of dealing with whatever it is, if you are.' He was giving her one of his arrogant looks.

'Fine, then!' she snapped, pulled the paper from her pocket and thrust it at him, 'I take it you can read that?'

'Yes, of course,' he started snarkily, then paused, and went very pale, 'This - I - but - oh -'

That was when he fainted.

Sorry.

That was when he passed out from an overdose of manly shock.

* * *

When Rodney awoke he had a cracking headache and a wet cloth on the back of his head. For a moment he thought he was in the infirmary, but then he opened his eyes and saw Meaghan's pale face looking down at him in concern. Somehow she had gotten his dead weight into the chair. For a moment, he couldn't remember why he'd passed out, and then he did, and groaned. But one look at the wet streaks on her cheeks made him wish desperately that he could pull the groan back in.

'I knew this is how it would be,' she said bitterly, standing up from the edge of the chair where she'd been sitting, and turning to leave. He moved so fast that it made his aching head sting, grabbed her arm, swung her back around and pulled her onto his lap. He didn't care for the moment that his head felt like it had been split in two, or even that his back was killing him. Well, actually, he did care but - he could deal with that later. For the moment, there was Meaghan.

'Look at me,' he commanded.

She did, but grudgingly.

'You could have just told me, instead of shoving the stupid results in my face like an idiot.'

She looked away again and muttered, 'I was scared you'd freak out. And you did - I mean, passing out at the news that Blake's your son definitely ranks high on the freaking-out list to me.'

He was silent for a good sixty seconds and then turned her face back to him with a hand and said, 'Am I really such an ogre?'

She smiled cautiously at him quoting her own words back to her, and then managed, 'You're not going to run a mile?'

He shifted her gently on his lap and put a hand in her hair. 'I won't deny that that is my gut instinct, yes. But - well - it kind of does explain a lot, don't you think?'

She breathed a sigh of relief that he was taking it from the science angle, and said, 'Yes.'

Then he smirked and added, 'And of course I should have _known _that Carson couldn't have a kid with that much intellect.'

'Hey,' she protested, and hit him gently, 'Don't take too much credit. He's my son too. And don't forget that Smo advanced him, so to speak. He would have been brainy without your genetic input, mister.'

But he hadn't heard her last few words. 'Wow,' he was saying suddenly, 'I have a son. He's my son. Your son - is my son.'

Her throat constricted at the voice he was using.

He glanced at her suspiciously, 'Why are you looking at me like that?'

She couldn't help but grin stupidly, 'Because you sound like you like the idea.'

'You don't have to look so surprised. Just because I'm not mister-send-your-kids-this-way doesn't mean I've never been curious to see what having one would be like. You know, it's a kind of scientific experiment, mix up the genes and see what comes out.' He realised he was blathering, 'You _really _thought I'd dump you and run?'

She grinned wryly, and wiped her nose on her sleeve in a most unappealing way, rubbing away the tears, 'I _hoped _you wouldn't. I thought you'd feel - entrapped or something.'

He looked at her in disbelief, 'It's not like you had much say in it.'

She knotted her hands up around his neck, fingers tracing absently along his collar. 'You know,' she said softly, 'I went and stared at the little man after I got the results - and there's a lot of you in him. It's crazy that I spent so many hours watching him and never saw the blindingly obvious.'

He frowned, 'Well, I knew the squidget never looked like _Carson_

‘So did I. I never understood why people said he did. It goes to prove something I read at uni once - that something like seventy percent of people will say a baby looks like whoever the father is _supposed _to be, whether it does or not. Apparently it's some ancient hang-up to protect babies from infanticide. I mean, maternity was always assured, but paternity...?'

Rodney squeezed her tight, kissed her on the forehead in a display of gentle affection she wasn't used to from him, and said, 'Thank you for the lesson, oh wise woman. But, as lovely as this is, you're putting my legs to sleep. Get up, you great lump, and come and point out all these alleged similarities between me and my son.'

She smacked him on the head, but did stand up, and lead him by the hand with a heart so swollen that she could barely breathe, to the cot where her son slept.

Their son.


	27. If I Fell

** _(Christmas Eve, 24 December. Daedalus, en route to Atlantis.)_ **

There were days when Doctor Elizabeth Weir wondered about the wisdom of running everything in the Pegasus Galaxy as thought they had never left Earth - as though they were still tucked up nicely in the SGC on Mountain Standard Time, or buried beneath a layer of familiar snow at the base on Antarctica. Case in point was the calendar. She understood, in theory, why they continued to use their calendar as though Atlantis moved in perfect sync with the Earth. But in practice it made no sense. The years - as measured by the Lantean planet and its seasons - weren0t even the same length as a standard Earth year, which meant, as a meteorologist had explained to her early on, that in one calendar year they were technically experiencing a Lantean year _plus four months_. She had no doubt that at some time in the future, probably after she was long gone, someone would get sick of it and demand that Atlantis use a Lantean calendar. In the future, maybe, when children started being born there and having children of their own - and it would happen, despite current IOC policies.

What bothered her the most about the calendar, though, were the celebrations. She knew that they didn't (mostly) bother anyone else, and normally she was the first one to try and spread a little holiday cheer. But she simply couldn't get her head around Christmas on a space ship. She'd had enough trouble coping with Christmas in the southern hemisphere during her years with the UN. But Christmas on the _Daedalus_ wasn't Christmas as all, as far as she was concerned. She didn't even know why she'd accepted Carson's invitation to dinner for Christmas Eve. Probably because she felt sorry for him - she knew that he and Laura Cadman were suffering because of the business with the baby; Carson in particular. Though they seemed happy enough at the moment. And it wasn't that it wasn't nice to see them happy, but -

\- but, well, no. That was an untruth. It _wasn't_ nice to see them happy. She'd never thought that she was that kind of person, but she had suddenly realised that when she was miserable, some deep part of her half-wished that everyone else were suffering equally. A realisation that disgusted her, because she'd always presumed that that sort of petty vindictiveness belonged to lesser people.

Lesser people? She took a sip from her wine. Good God, she was a snob as well.

Well, maybe not a snob.

But perhaps just a bit holier-than-thou.

She'd forgotten how good a little wine was at lubricating her self-honesty.

Self-honesty was the admission that she was miserable because of the note she'd left John on - and miserable because it was her own fault that he was uncountable miles away on the other side of the universe, no doubt putting himself into God-only-knew what kinds of dangerous situations, instead of here, with her, on the first Christmas they'd had since he'd moved in and they'd publicly become a couple. All those miles away and probably doubting what she felt for him. No. No, not that. She was sure he knew _exactly _what she felt for him. But she was also sure that he believed she was capable of making that call, capable of saying, I love you but it's over.

_Was _she capable of that? It was twelve days since they'd said goodbye and she still didn't know. She felt like her life was stuck on pause, and the same broken record playing over and over in her head wasn't helping her any.

As though channelling her thoughts, Zelenka, who was sitting opposite her on a chair in Carson's quarters, glanced up at her and smiled fleetingly. 'It will be all right,' he said softly, so that the others couldn't hear. She smiled back at him. The Czech nodded and turned his attention back to the very large novel - crime fiction, if the cover were anything to go by - that he was reading in his mother tongue. She'd never met a grown adult who would take a novel to a dinner party before.

The others - Teyla, Ronon, Carson and Laura - were still seated around the table that had been set up in the quarters for the dinner. Someone had hung up a few decorations, and each of them had a drink in their hands and were chatting happily. Okay, so she had to admit that it was good to see Carson smiling again. Except when he was working he'd been walking around with a concerned expression on his face, and she almost regretted having ordered him to come back to Atlantis rather than sticking it out with the baby. She knew he spent half his time thinking about the implications of it all, and she just wished that they would get back into range of radio contact sooner rather than later, so that he could get some news and be assured that it was all okay. Still, to be honest, she didn't think he would be any happier than he was here, and at least he was doing something useful this way. Either way, at the moment he was basking in the possessive expression on Laura's face. As for Teyla and Ronon, they were just about as engrossed in each other as Laura and Carson. It was no wonder that she'd ended up over here with Doctor Zelenka. Christmas was no time to be single.

Her hands froze around her glass. Single? She wasn't single. Had that been some kind of Freudian slip? Was her subconscious convinced their relationship was over?

She sighed.

A little louder than she had intended.

Zelenka put his book down with a snap, straightened his glasses, and rose to his feet saying in a surprisingly firm voice, 'I cannot take the long face for a moment more. You, Doctor Weir, are coming with me.'

She stared at him and in her bafflement let him take her hand and pull her to her feet. 'What are you talking about?'

Carson, who had noticed the pair of them stand, exclaimed with a laugh, 'And where do you two think you're going? It's only eleven thirty!'

Zelenka gave the couples at the table an amused look and said, in that same firm voice, 'The love birds can keep their own company. It's like a knitting club here. I'm taking the Doctor to a _real_ party.'

And Elizabeth found herself with nothing else to do but smile at them helplessly as Zelenka, still holding her hand, lead her from the room.

Perhaps it was the glass or two of nice red that she'd already drunk with dinner, but for whatever reason, she let him lead her half way across the _Daedalus_ and down into the entrails of the ship, to a part that she'd never even dreamt existed, let alone seen before. It was dark when he first pulled her inside the door and it slid shut behind them - dark and _loud_ \- and it took her a few dumbstruck seconds before her eyes adjusted. When they had, she found herself in a large space, dotted with humming machinery, and the walls lined with rows of pipes and thick knots of wires. Someone had hung blinking Christmas lights up and that was all there was to see by, so that the world flashed small patches of blue and red and green. It was a little too hot for comfort, and it was crammed full of more people than seemed plausible, and - she put her hands to her ears - was pulsing with loud music. Loud dance music. Loud Eastern European dance music. If there was a more technical name, she didn't know it.

Zelenka grinned at her like a little boy let out on his own for the first time, pulled her to a long flat piece of tech that someone had chucked a towel over and converted to a bar, took her wine from her still dazed hand, and thrust a vodka in its place. ‘I MADE IT!' he bellowed over the music, ‘IT'S VERY GOOD!'

She stared at him. This wasn't her scene. She hadn't been in a disco since the late eighties and it wasn't really the sort of thing she needed reminding of. So she stared at him grinning at her, and stared at the dancers, and stared at the lights, and stared at the machinery, and stared at the vodka in her hand - and then burst into sudden laughter and shouted, ‘BOTTOMS UP!' and took a great gulp so that the clear liquid scalded down the back of her throat and brought tears to her eyes. What the hell...

The room pulsed around her. The world pulsed around her. Nothing but heat and sound and beat. She'd forgotten what it was like to just let go. Even with John. He was so sure that he knew exactly who she was that he never pushed her onto unusual ground; never made her move outside her nice comfortable little box. And now - now she laughed loudly, head thrown back and her hair glowing eerily blue, then green, then red, then yellow, in the constant flash-flash-flash of the Christmas lights. She put her glass to her lips again, sipped more, reached her hands out to either side of her and let herself sinking into the ear shattering beat of the music. How could she have forgotten? How had she let herself forget?

The heat of the room and the machines and the music and the dancing and the throbbing lights and the alcohol made a trickle of sweat shimmer down her backbone. She unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off, tossing it on one of the pipes on the wall she danced beside, and moved her body more freely in the black camisole she had on beneath, dark against her flushed skin. The music stamped through her head. Boom, boom, boom, a never ending rhythm.

She laughed loudly when she saw Zelenka coming back towards her through the crush of bodies, watching him bob his head ridiculously to the beat, and listened to him shouting greetings in English, Czech, and Russian. And then he was in front of her. ‘YOU CAN'T DANCE!' she screamed at him through the music, laughing in his face.

‘YOU CAN'T DANCE EITHER!' he shouted back, eyes gleaming behind his glasses, and thrust a beer into her hand.

She grinned at him, then grinned at the beer, and yelled, ‘WHY NOT MORE VODKA?'

‘ENOUGH VODKA!' he shouted back, ‘CZECH BEER! KOZEL!'

She took a swill from the bottle, shoved the empty vodka glass precariously onto some machine, put her empty hand on his shoulder to keep her steady, and shouted, ‘YOU DON'T THINK I CAN HACK IT?!'

He grinned at the sight of her, her face flushed pink and her hair crazy, and shook his head, ‘NO!'

She moved the arm on his shoulder so that it was around his neck, and then lead him back towards the bar, shouting in his ear, ‘I LOVE A CHALLENGE!'

‘ ELIZABETH!' he protested, chuckling, ‘YOU CAN'T OUTDRINK A CZECH!'

The world swum slightly. The music had changed tempo but it still throbbed in her head, in her ears, in the base of her stomach. She tipped the contents of the glass down her throat and their audience roared. Radek had a slightly awed grin on his face. He adjusted his glasses. She grinned right back at him, leaning across the table, her breath bleery, and said, ‘I'll have you know - know - know I had a wild youth -'

She looked mental and she looked beautiful. And very, very drunk.

‘DRINK! DRINK!' the crowd roared at him in a muddle of languages, half of the people present too sloshed to remember anything except their mother tongue. Radek moved to pick up his next glass, found his hand clutching empty space, then narrowed his eyes, focussed, and managed to pick it up. He looked at Elizabeth, who was moving back and forth in front of him even though he was pretty sure she wasn't moving at all. He downed the glass. She downed another.

He stared suddenly when she reached out, grabbed his hand through the mess of discarded glasses, and said with a sudden clarity, ‘You called me Elizabeth.'

He looked at her uncomprehendingly, ‘Eh?'

‘Elizabeth. Elizabeth. Almost always Doctor Weir. But we're friends, right, Radek?'

He looked at her hand, at his glass, focussed on her face, ignored the shouts around them and said, ‘You are _opilý. _Drunk.'

She nodded loosely. Then her head dropped onto her arms and the crowd cheered a little more.

* * *

** _(Christmas Day, 25 December, Daedalus, en route to Atlantis.) _ **

‘Oh...' she opened her eyes despite the fact that she knew she didn't _really _want to, and with a great effort managed to raise her arm up and try and look at her watch. God. 11 a.m. Why hadn't she just kept sleeping? It was better than waking up feeling like this. Then she heard the knocking on the door. She supposed that was what had woken her. Glancing down to check she was still dressed - an action that made her eyes sting - she put her face in her hands and called out, as loudly as she could bare, ‘Come in.'

Zelenka obeyed, then looked at her sympathetically and brought a glass of something deeply unappetising looking over to the side of her bed. ‘Do your brains also want to commit suicide?' he asked gently, ‘I think I had forgotten I was too old for that. There is a reason I make the drink instead of drinking it myself.'

She managed a wry smile and sniffed the glass he'd offered her, then pulled a disgusted face, ‘Radek, what is this?'

She glanced up at him properly and saw that he looked about as bad as she felt, though at least he'd showered and changed his clothes. ‘Secret recipe,' he answered, ‘drink it up. Caldwell wants you in the laboratory.'

‘Cald - what?' She felt like a herd of elephants had been stomping across her forehead, it was Christmas morning, she had the worst hangover in a long time, and Caldwell wanted her in the lab? She managed to drink Zelenka's concoction, albeit unwillingly, and then groaned, ‘Radek, I need sleep. Sleep or a quick death. Tell him -'

‘It's Doctor Beckett. He was up at the crack of dawn,' Zelenka winced at the thought, ‘and he thinks he's made the break through in the virus.'

‘The what?'

Thinking was like swimming through mud.

‘The virus. He believes he can make the Wraith human, and this time for good.'

She flopped back on the bed, regretted it instantly, and shut her eyes. ‘Tell them I'll be there in half an hour...'

A shower and some aspirins later and she was dutifully in the lab like Caldwell had requested. She supposed she should be glad that he was so careful to have her included in everything, since she knew he could quite effectively keep her out of the loop while she was aboard his ship if he put his mind to it.

Carson looked on the verge of being amused at the state of her, but he limited himself to commenting cheerily, ‘As your Doctor, Elizabeth, I really feel obliged to tell you that you should stick to the quieter life. You look terrible.'

‘Thanks so much,' she managed, and ignored the expression on Caldwell's face all together. ‘What have you found out, Carson?'

He looked subdued. ‘This virus. I believe it really does work. It will make the change process irreversible. Once wraith always human.'

‘That's not the best bit,' beamed Caldwell, ‘Is it, Doctor?'

You would have thought the man had developed it himself. Carson looked a bit put out. ‘I believe what the Colonel is referring to is the fact that this virus is capable of spreading itself. When an ex-Wraith touches a Wraith, they'll pass the virus on, thus effectively halting the feeding cycle.'

Oddly, he didn't sound all that pleased with himself. She supposed that was because of Michael...

‘Well,' said Caldwell happily, ‘How long until it's available?'


	28. In Spite Of All The Danger

** _(Christmas Day, 25 December, Iliad.)_ **

Meaghan woke to the sound of someone rapping lightly on the door. Blake was already up. He'd brought a pile of Rodney's maths puzzles onto her bed and was sitting on her pillow, inches from her face, working on them with an expression of deep concentration and his mind coloured clear white to match.

The knocking sounded again. She groaned, found her watch amongst the sheets, and then groaned a little more. "Who is it? It's 6:50 and I'm asleep!"

"You don't sound asleep." Dom's voice. She muttered rudely beneath her breath, shoved her face into her pillow, and unlocked the door with her mind. Her brother stood in the doorway for a moment, looking a little baffled at how she'd done it, and then came on in. Her eyes still shut, she concentrated for a second. Dom, and - "Rodney McKay, why are you here with my brother?"

She rolled over and stared at them, genuinely confused. The Canadian shut the door behind him and gave her a pained look. "You know, the whole Jean Grey - Emma Frost mind-power thing was cute, but it's getting annoying fast."

She grinned at him, scruffled up Blake's hair, and then repeated, "Seriously. I thought you two liked each other's company about as much as - well - oh, it's too early for analogies." She dropped her head back against her pillows. She'd had nightmares again about

Her son clambered down off the bed, dragging his maths with him, hugged one of his uncle's legs en route, and then stretched his arms up to McKay, who after a moment's pause picked him up. Despite himself, he was chuffed that he was the favourite, and proud of the maths that the kid was shoving him. "You've been busy squiget, haven't you?"

Meaghan raised her head again suspiciously. "You're both ignoring me. Why?"

Dom sat down on her bed, gave her a playful pat on the head, and whispered, "Merry Christmas."

She sat up with a jot, red curls bouncing manically, "No. You're kidding."

McKay managed an amused look in her direction, and Domenic shook his head earnestly. "Nope. It really is Christmas. You _do _recall that it was the Christmas break you had leave for, right? Well..."

She looked utterly stumped. "How could I not know - but you two do?"

They exchanged a deservingly sheepish glance. "Actually, though I know it's bizarre, it was Lowell who reminded us. Invited _me _to Christmas Eve dinner, if you'll credit it. Thank God I'm quick on my feet with excuses. If she asks, I was with you, right? Besides... there's been lots of chatter about Christmas around the ship. You just don't get out enough."

His sister nodded at him absently. He had a cup of steaming black tea in his hand, which she took from him and then drank almost entirely in one go, as though it were a shot to steady her nerves. Then she crawled out of bed, gave Rodney a good-morning hug that made her son - caught in the middle - squeak in offence, then finally demanded, " Lowell? Of all the people to think of it..." Then she looked at McKay suspiciously. "I never picked you as a Christmas fan."

He groaned dramatically and let Blake slither back out of his arms. "Trust me, I'm not. Depending on how you look at it, it's either superstitious nonsense, or a commercial ploy, and either way seriously overrated." Then he shrugged, "But I didn't mind it when I was a small kid. Before Jeannie got annoying. Then there was the dog and - er - anyway, the squidget's a small kid..."

Both men could see that the reality had suddenly hit her. That this was Blake's first Christmas and he was almost three and a half years old. She sat down with a thump on the arm of a chair and rubbed her temples silently. Then, "Not much of a Christmas, really."

Dom and McKay exchanged another small glance. "Well - actually -"

Now she really _was _suspicious. "Right. You two minus the constant stream of verbal abuse are freaking me out. What are you up to?"

"It was Doctor Murray's idea. You know he's a big softie at heart. When we were hanging around Earth, he had a day with his wife and kids. I guess it got him thinking, because he asked me if there was anything I could get you and little fulla." Dom shrugged, and unceremoniously handed over a bag of duplo that he'd dumped beside the door where it was out of her sight. Blake, realising it was meant for him, dumped his maths puzzles and then stood on his tippy-toes to stare into the bag, which was almost bigger than he was. Then, after getting an approving glance from all the adults there, he hauled it down to the floor and within seconds had it spread around him. Obviously he'd put two and two together and decided they were much more superior to his wooden blocks. Then he spied the little people mixed in amongst it all, and carefully lined them up in a row with his Asgard dolly. But the animals just looked at oddly and put out of his way to one side. Meaghan, watching what he had done, sighed, "I guess he's never seen a dog before, huh?"

Then she got up and hugged her brother, "Thanks, Dom. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything - I mean - I do have a present, but it's at Mum's place."

He shrugged, "No problemo."

Then, her mood changing a little, she gave him a cheeky half-smile, "So... this little trip of Doctor Murray's pick anything up for me?"

Dom rolled his eyes and said to McKay, "She's shocking, I told you that would be her number one question."

But McKay just nodded and handed her a piece of paper.

A document, signed in triplicate, that ratified the promise they'd made that she and Blake would be able to live in Atlantis, and she could keep her job...

* * *

Half the ship's crew came to see them during the day. It was the child that drew them, of course. Everyone likes kids on Christmas. Mitchell, with his usual sense of humour, had given Blake a pack of playing cards and said he expected the kid to be beating him within a month. And Sheppard had made him yet more maths problems, mainly because he couldn't think of anything else, but also because he happened to enjoy making them.

Even Agnarr popped by, though it turned out that was just to berate her for missing her regular lessons.

It was 9 pm - an exhausted Blake having long since crashed in his cot clutching a second Asgard dolly (with the word "GRUMBLER" on its chest) that had been made by one of the wittier (and obviously more foolhardy, given Agnarr's reputation) marines had given him - before McKay and Meaghan were finally left alone. She sunk onto the arm of his chair, where he'd been dozing for half of the day and looking bored for the other half, and said, "You know, old bear, you didn't have to sit through that."

He looked offended, "Leave off with the old, would you? I'm not your grandfather."

"Thank God!" she laughed at his expression and explained, "Let's just say that my grandfather and I have - issues." She leant in against him comfortably, "Besides, you know, there _is _an age difference."

"Not really."

She blinked at him, "How old do you think I am, Rodney?"

Even McKay wasn't stupid enough not to recognize that however he answered that, he'd have answered wrong, and besides, he'd honestly never thought about it, and said as much.

She shook her head, "That is _so _you. Well. I happen to know that you're thirty-nine."

"How'd you know that?"

She grinned, "Have you forgotten Dom read your personnel file?" She grinned wickedly, "And I have to say, one day you really should write a book - you've got a more colourful background than you give credit to."

He decided to ignore that, "So I'm thirty-nine, and?"

"And so that's eleven years difference. My Mum might think that pushed the borderline."

He suddenly looked concerned, "And you?"

She shrugged and slid off the chair's arm into his lap, making the whole thing wobble, "I couldn't care less."

And then they started slightly when his radio suddenly buzzed. He found it and snapped, "What _now_?"

Colonel Cautley chuckled, "Just thought I'd let you know that I've got the little lady a Christmas present. If she looks out her viewport, she'll see that we've arrived at the planet where Ba'al's base is. Cautley out."

Meaghan was a flurry of limbs as she scrambled out of his lap to peer out the window. It was small - they'd kept well out of range - but they were there.

McKay followed her and put his arms around her waist, let her look for a few moments and then said, "You know, that was very strange."

She turned her head and wrinkled her nose up at him. "What?"

"Well, how'd he know I was here?"

She chuckled and then looked back out the viewport, "Sometimes, Rodney, I worry about you..."

* * *

** _(Boxing Day, 26th December, Iliad, above Ba'al's base.)_ **

Meaghan was awake at the crack of dawn the next morning. Rodney had stayed to snuggle, but now she shoved his dead weight rudely away from her, clambered out of bed (at which point he immediately grunted slightly, and sprawled across the entire space), and hurried to take a shower. She was washing her hair when she heard, even from beneath the water, him wake and start to mutter a loud complaint about his 'poor back'.

"No-one twisted your arm into staying!" she shouted out at him, rinsed her hair, and then got out and wrapped herself in a large towel before starting to dry her hair. "You can get Blake up, if you want."

He muttered something loudly again, this time about sleep deprivation and obnoxious women.

A few minutes later she was dressed in a set of the military kit that she'd been given, and, with her hair braided back with a severity unheard of for her, she scooped a half-awake Blake out of his cot (the Asgards still clutched in his hands) and slipped him into bed next to Rodney. "Give Daddy a cuddle for a while - and Rodney, try not to squish him," she ordered only half tongue-in-cheek, then kissed her son on the forehead, and McKay on the cheek, and said, "Now play nicely while I'm gone. And... love you both. I'll be back, I promise."

And then she was out of the room before McKay could think to ask her what she was talking about. A few seconds later, with his hand around his son, he had already fallen back to sleep...

* * *

Meaghan moved down the corridors as fast as her yellow boots could take her and, sure enough, when she swung into the weapons' bay she found her brother and a dozing Sheppard already there. Domenic had one of those gigantic guns in his hands and actually had the hide to look guilty, as though she didn't know what he'd been doing here all this time. "Oh, honestly," she said at his expression, "Give me a break! I suppose you think I don't know about the 302 lessons, too?"

Sheppard cracked an eye open, saw who it was, and decided that playing doggo was the safest option.

"So, when do you leave?"

Dom looked shifty.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Domenic. I know we're at the planet, and I know that you're going down to do recon. I also know that I'm coming."

Mitchell entered the room, gave her a friendly hug and then said, "Actually, no, you're not. This is an aerynsunmeetstheterminator-gun-toting outing only."

"I _am _coming."

Sheppard gave up on playing doggo, and all three men answered in unison, "No, you're _not_." Then Sheppard swung his legs off the bench he'd had them resting on, and continued, "Like the man said, we're taking these babies. And you're staying with _your _baby. Besides, it's a military excursion."

She actually stomped like a thwarted four-year-old, and before they could stop her, she'd hefted one of the guns into her arms, _click - _and a hole twice as large as the one Dom had made appeared beside it. She relaxed the weapon onto her hip and said, "Shut your mouth, Dom, or your jaw'll fall off. You should know by now that anything you can do, I can do better."

"But - but you hate weapons. You're a libertarian, a pacifist, a Ghandi-hugger."

Her chin jutted out dangerously, "So motherhood has demoralised me. If there's a chance that that monstrous bastard is on this planet, then I'm going to be the one spacing him. First, he impregnates me against my will. And then, after I've gotten my head around that point and accepted it, he condemns my son to a two year life span. I want that formula, gentlemen, and I want it ASAP. Like I said, demoralised. Deal with it."

"Holy crap," murmured Mitchell as she moved the enormous gun to make her point. She glared at him, and he held his hands up and grinned, "Honey don't point that thing at me, I'm just marvellin' at how you're holding it. It's twice as big as you and weighs so much it makes _my _back ache."

Now she grinned, "Agnarr taught me some clever tricks."

Sheppard shook his head warningly, "Cameron... _no._"

Mitchell shrugged, "Hey, I'm staying out of it. After all, she's the one with the very big weapon. And apparently, she can make bigger holes with it than we can. I'm all for girl power. You can take her on, John, but I won't."

* * *

The planet was dry and barren. When they were beamed down, Meaghan had suddenly understood why the SG teams included sunglasses with their kit. She had the whole regalia on now (in which she felt more than a little stupid), and so dug around and slipped the dark glasses on just like the others had done. The 'others' were Mitchell, Sheppard and her brother, plus a marine and a sergeant that had happened to be amongst the 'three' that the Colonels had rustled up on Cautley's orders. The marine kept giving her strange looks, and she realised with a grin that he was the one who'd been at the door when the gun had exploded - Anders, his name was - and she'd warned him not to mess with her. If he'd taken her seriously then, he was deeply impressed now.

She carried the gun lightly against her shoulder.

It wasn't entirely true, what she'd said to Dom. Motherhood hadn't demoralised her. She still detested the fact that she was holding the stupid thing, but one the other hand, she'd been desperate for them to take her with them. If there was some way she could get Blake's formula, halt his super fast growth, she would. She didn't like the fib, but if there was anything worth lying for, it was Blake.

The wind whipped sand angrily at them, though thankfully only around their legs and not their faces because she had a feeling it would sting if it hit flesh. They walked silently, nothing but the slight crunch of sand beneath their boots, until they reached the crest of a dune.

Ba'al's ships sprawled out beneath them.

Her hands tightened unconsciously on her gun.

* * *

** _(Back on the Iliad)_ **

McKay woke properly a few hours later because his son was poking him in the face with one of those cursed Asgard dollies. "Go annoy your mother," he muttered and rolled out of reach in the opposite direction. A small body climbed over him and then he has Asgards back in his face again. "I'm not going to tell you again, squidge, leave me alone." But the kid was pushing colours into his brain again; something that McKay still found disturbing. So he pulled the sheet up over his head, sending the kid tumbling down over the mattress beside him. The Canadian had made up his mind firmly that he wasn't pandering to the colours, convinced now he knew that Blake was his, that the kid was smart enough to talk if he really had to - just like Agnarr had told Meaghan. Then he felt a small pair of fingers poke him in the eye, pull his eyelid open, and the kid staring at him about a centimetre from his face. "Oh, for the love of -" he opened his eyes, groaned, and said, "This had better be good, squiget." Blake was staring at him with wide eyes, and his bottom lip was trembling slightly. McKay, who had been ignoring the mental colours with practiced skill, suddenly realised that they were a dark, unhappy shade. Brilliant, just what he needed. The squidge was as placid as a caterpillar all this time and now, when Meaghan was apparently out, now he was going to have a breakdown? McKay muttered to himself, gave the kid a pat on the head, and asked, "Where's that mummy of yours, huh?"

To his surprise, Blake leant over and pointed very purposefully out the viewport. At the small planet down below. McKay stared, "Oh, you had so better be messing with my head..."


	29. Happiness Is A Warm Gun (Part One)

** _(Boxing Day, 26 December, on the planet where Ba'al's base is.)_ **

The six of them lay in the sand and peered over the lip of the dune down into the valley below. The knowledge of where they were and the thought of what they were doing, made the blood in Meaghan's veins pump with such speed that she could hear it pounding so loudly behind her ears, until she half wondered if the others couldn't hear it too. Recon. That was all they were supposed to be doing. Recon. Recon to see the lay of the land. Recon to help them find the Sphere that Ba'al had; the Sphere that would make the SGC and the IOC so very happy. Recon to help them find the formula that would make her and Rodney happy.

Recon, with the assistance of very big guns.

She realised suddenly that she hadn't been completely honest with herself about what her actual plans were. What was it she thought she was going to achieve here, anyway? What was she going to do, storm down there like something out of _Die Hard_ and take them all on single-handedly? Well, that would obviously be stupid beyond belief and she was pretty sure she'd end up painfully dead as well. Which wouldn't help anyone, least of all Blake. But that they would just lay here in the damned sand and obnoxious space midges for an hour? No, that wasn't what she'd planned at all. It was a wonder the wraith hadn't already taken over Atlantis if this was Sheppard's idea of an action packed mission. Although it was, of course, she corrected herself, recon. Just recon, that's what he'd said.

She just hadn't really believed it.

It was frustrating, it was infuriating and - and it was just a little bit boring, to be honest. Even if the blood was pumping. She realised her thoughts weren't even making any logical sense to herself.

"Colonel Sheppard-" she began, but he waved a hand at her to be silent, as if she were a fly. Or one of the space midges. He had a pair of binoculars in the other hand and was peering through them intently and muttering at high speed to Mitchell beneath his breath. Meaghan glanced at the other men. Her brother, typically, was doing his best Sheppard impersonation and gazing down knowingly at the valley, as though he did recon before breakfast every single day. Anders, on the other hand, had a slightly dazed expression on his face, as if he were just as baffled as her about what this all was supposed to achieve. And Aldington, so far as she could tell, had actually dozed off. She wondered vaguely who exactly, in Sheppard's terminology, was supposed to be 'watching their six' - whatever the hell as 'six' might be, apart from a blonde cylon on a certain TV programme.

"Colonel Sheppard," she tried again, and this time he leant over, fished Mitchell's binoculars from out of the Colonel's top pocket (why was it, come to think of it, that _she _didn't have binoculars?) and handed them to her. All without taking his attention off the camp below or pausing in his incomprehensible stream of muttering. She frowned, a little put out, but still lifted the binoculars to her eyes and fiddled with them until they suited her vision. It was, truth be told, a frightening sight. Ba'al's ships were scattered in a carefully spaced triangular formation that would - she intuitioned - allow them to take off simultaneously without getting in one another's way - or something. Dead in the centre was the mother ship, surrounded by a mess of flimsier looking temporary constructions that could be, for all she knew, anything from makeshift barracks to portaloos.

There wasn't an armed man in sight, not even one single, solitary warrior stationed outside the mothership. It was that that scared her the most - the realisation that Ba'al was so very confident in himself. Either he believed that they wouldn't come after him (which was unlikely) or he _knew _that they would and was sure that he could crush them like a cockroach beneath the heel of one of his neat boots.

Meaghan shivered and passed the binoculars back to Mitchell, who accepted them with a silent, somewhat sympathetic smile. Was that the reason why they just lay here in the sand and waited? Because Ba'al's self-confidence daunted them as much as it daunted her? Somehow, she doubted that the Colonels would appreciate it if she asked that question aloud, but either way, it didn't matter, because at that moment, two things happened. Firstly, a smaller ship materialised in the valley below and a man, surrounded by guards, stepped out and headed towards the mothership. She couldn't see him clearly from that distance, but she wasn't even remotely surprised when Sheppard murmured clearly, "Ba'al."

The second thing that happened was that another man exited the mothership and moved to meet him. And even without the binoculars, she knew who he was before Sheppard could tell her, knew him by his clothes and his stance and the fear that had merged with anger in her belly at the sight of him.

"Argennos..." Her hand constricted on her gun and for the first time in her life, she wondered if the reason she hated weapons was the deeply buried knowledge that she might be tempted to enjoy using them.

That vermin had her son's medicine and she'd do anything to get it.

* * *

** _(back up on the Iliad.)_ **

"Calm yourself, Doctor McKay, I really don't think -"

Rodney, still wearing the crumpled set of yesterday's clothes that he'd slept in, and with his son clutching at his neck tightly enough to make his throat ache, stood in the middle of the ship's bridge and looked more than a little annoyed. "You know what, Colonel? I don't actually _care _what you think! I'm _telling _you, she's down there on that planet, and if you'd just be a good little man and radio like I've asked you to, then bingo!, you'll see that I'm right."

Cautley shook his head. "Under no circumstances am I breaking radio silence with Colonel Sheppard's team. You have no idea how much that could jeopardise their position; depending on the circumstances they're in. And as regards Doctor Monahan, I'm quite confident that she's on board somewhere. Yes, she isn't answering her radio, but I've known her long enough to imagine that that sort of behaviour wouldn't exactly be out of character. Get changed, Doctor McKay. Have some breakfast."

Rodney seemed to go a new shade of red. By now, everyone on the bridge was quite openly staring at them, and a few extras had actually stopped in the doorway to watch the showdown. McKay going mental wasn't exactly an uncommon site, but McKay going mental at the ship's CO promised to be entertaining.

"I'm telling you, she's gone down there. Sheppard and her brother-"

"Have my permission to be there. I can assure you that-"

"Oh, for crying out loud, shut up and _listen, _would you! I went to the weapons' bay and there's some marine there who agrees that she's gone. Says she took one of the AST guns and waved it around and - you know what? It's not important how it happened. Sheppard and Mitchell were no doubt channelling their inner morons again. But they're _your _men. You make them come back. She'll get herself killed." He paused, and a sudden flash of inspiration hit him, "Ask the Asgard, he must know who he beamed down!"

Cautley shifted his gaze from McKay to the Asgard, standing at the other end of McKay's pointed finger. The Colonel didn't look at all impressed when the little grey alien said in a calm voice, "Six team members, as requested by you, Colonel Cautley. And yes, one was Doctor Monahan."

Cautley's eyes narrowed. He looked back at McKay as though he was struggling valiantly with the desire to say a great many things that his position forbade him from saying, then tapped his radio and managed to ask in a highly controlled voice, "Weapon's Bay, answer please."

A crackle, then, "Er, yes, Colonel?'

He didn't look at all happy, but he avoided McKay's smug-yet-annoyed expression and said, "Marine, could you please explain to me in ten words or less what the _hell _you are still doing on board?"

"The other Doctor Monahan took my place, sir, she had the gun and Colonel Sheppard, sir, Colonel Sheppard said-"

"That was nineteen words and counting, marine," responded Cautley coolly and shut off the radio connection without waiting for a response. "Even if she is on the planet, Doctor McKay," he continued, in the Canadian's direction, in the careful voice he usually reserved for half-wits and small children, "It is a recon mission, nothing more. There is no reason to make alarmist claims that she will 'get herself killed' as you put it."

McKay half-laughed, "Are you kidding? It's Meaghan we're talking about. Look, Colonel, I've known her for a couple of years now, and let me assure you that if there's a woman in this universe who could get herself in trouble on the way to buy milk, it's Meaghan. Seriously, just let me go down or - or send some marines, or something." It occurred to him suddenly and unexpectedly, at this point, that he was making a fool of himself in front of the entire ship, and that everyone was gawping at him, and he tripped on his words and paused to gather his thoughts.

Samantha Carter made use of the sudden silence to step forwards. She shot Blake a small smile and then said, "Sir, I think Doctor McKay has a point. If Meaghan is down there, she could put Sheppard's team at risk. I'm sure he knew what he was doing when he decided to take her-" (McKay snorted) "-but there is a small possibility, a very small one, that he hasn't thought all the repercussions though. What if she gets caught, Colonel? What if Ba'al finds out about her child? Then he would have what he wanted in the first place, a h-" she glanced at Blake, and instead of saying 'host', finished, "- a help in his plans for dominion. Let me go down, with some back up, just in case."

The Colonel looked sour, but started to relay orders.

* * *

** _(down on the planet)_ **

After a considerable quantity of complaining on her behalf, and a stony-faced stubbornness on Sheppard's, the Colonels, Domenic, and Aldington had headed off down towards the valley beneath them. Meaghan had watched them as they moved carefully along the edge of the dune and then down to the plateau below, filled with a mix of relief and fury. She hated that she'd been left here to be babysat by a military type. On the other and, in the odd moments when her cold logic kicked in, she knew that the four men were more likely to get the job done quickly and efficiently without her tagging along. And Mitchell had even whispered in her ear that if he saw Argennos in the right spot, he'd shoot the bastard on her behalf - and she wasn't convinced he was joking.

Which was why she sat there with her chin on her hands and stared down at the ships. Until Anders stiffened suddenly at her side and whispered, "Head down."

A small group of warriors had left the mothership and had begun to spread out around it. Meaghan ducked her head, then shielded her eyes from the sun and looked in panic to see if she could see her brother or the Colonels. She thought maybe she could make them out on the other side of the camp, small moving specks against the sand, and she wished there were some way she could warn them. Sheppard had been so insisting on the importance of radio silence that he'd actually taken hers from her to save her the temptation. She looked at Anders pleadingly, but he just shook his head.

"We can't just sit here and let tem walk into a trap," she hissed, "they won't be able to see Ba'al's men from down there, at their level. And they'll expecting the place to be unguarded - it has been all the rest of the time."

"They be expecting things to change, ma'am, cause they're trained good," he answered comfortingly.

Unconvinced, she stuck her thumb into her mouth and began to tear at the edge of her nail with her teeth. Oh, God in heaven help them all if they got caught. She _couldn't _just sit and watch it happen.

Anders pressed his hand gently against her shoulder, "Please, ma'am, you'll see."

For a split second she had the urge to smack him, but then she subsided against the sand in silence. The minutes scraped by. She shut her eyes to stop herself from straining to see. And then it came to her, clear as a bell, without her understanding how. The image of Aldington sprawled dead on the sand, the other three men being bound and led along by a laughing Ba'al - and she knew, without a doubt, that what she'd just 'seen' was about to happen. That she'd just experienced the future.

Blessing Smo and Agnarr with every fibre of her being, she looked Anders straight in the eyes and whispered, "If I can't help them, then I can at least make use of the distraction that they're about to make." She shook his hand from her and, guilty at the knowledge that he would have no choice but to follow her, she slid over the edge of the dune and scrambled in a direct route down towards the mothership.

Anders didn't catch up to her until she came to a halt with her back pressed against the wall beside the mothership's main entrance. He stared at her with wide, worried eyes, and hissed, "Are you _trying _to get us killed? What about the armed men?"

She shook her head, and sand sprayed down onto her shoulders like yellow dandruff. It was up her nose, too. She snorted in disgust and then hissed back, "The guards are busy capturing the Colonels and Dom. Don't ask questions. Let's just get the formula and get out of here, and then tell Cautley he has to send more men down," she paused for a second, ashamed at her priority list, then continued, "And at the moment, we don't want to draw Ba'al's attention to us, do we?"

"But, ma'am-"

"What are you going to do to stop me?" she demanded, the gun hard in her hands.

He looked frustrated, but brow-beaten, "I could knock you out?"

"Very caveman of you, Anders."

At that moment, there was a chuckle. Meaghan and Anders both half-sensed it before they registered what it was, and raised their guns, but it was too late. Ba'al had materialised before them with a self-satisfied smile on his face, and he held the gun that he'd snatched fearlessly out of Meaghan's hands as lightly as if it were tailor-made for him. She'd gotten just one shot off before she'd lost hold of it, and had put a most unpleasant hole in the nearest temporary construction, and there was a patch on the ground between her and it that she had the queasy suspicion might once have been one of his guards. But it hadn't helped her any. Gandhi was right; it was all a waste of time.

"Nice shot," Ba'al congratulated her. She stared around in a kind of belated shock. Anders - fat lot of use he'd been - had also had is gun confiscated and was being bound up by one of Ba'al's men. The go'a'uld was smiling at her like a gentleman, and said, "Now, I don't need to restrain you, do I, Doctor Monahan? I'm sure you're smart enough to know that - ah, how shall I put it? - resistance is futile..."

She fought a hysterical urge to laugh as he stepped to the right to show her Mitchell, Sheppard and Domenic, likewise bound, and she realised that she had made a terrible, terrible mistake. She hadn't seen the future. She'd seen the past. Ba'al must have already caught them before she'd made her stupid, mad, brainless rush down the dune; had already been bringing them back as captives to the mothership.

"Argennos will be pleased," he murmured.

Silent and suddenly scared, she let him take her arm like some kind of goddamn alien Mr. Darcy, and they walked into the mothership.

* * *

Samantha had had Agnarr beam them down near the edge of Ba'al's base. "Ground to the _Iliad_," she reported once she had the all-clear on the surrounding landscape, "I can't see any sign of Sheppard's team. We're going in for a closer look."

She looked at the nearest marine and he moved along the edge of the ship, before peering around a corner. His head, when he turned it back to her, nodded an all-clear, and then he vanished out of sight to inspect closer. A few minutes later he was back again. "There's the mother of all holes in one of these buildings, Colonel. I think it's been blown up by one of our AST guns."

Sam nodded, and was overpowered with the suspicion that this was going to be one of 'those' recons that turned into oh-so-much-more.

* * *

That the Chancellor would be pleased was a somewhat mild understatement. The sight of the sickeningly familiar smile on Argennos' face when Ba'al led her into his lab was enough to bring her to the verge of vomiting.

"Doctor Monahan, my dear!" he'd exclaimed by way of joyous greeting, and had rushed towards her with that disturbing enchanted-uncle look on his face. She blanched and moved instinctively behind Ba'al as though, in lack of someone else to save her, he might offer her protection. Ba'al might be a parasitic alien, Ba'al might be the enemy, but Meaghan knew she'd take Ba'al over Argennos and his Doctor Jekyll science any day.

Ba'al patted her on the arm in amusement. "I don't believe she holds many fond memories of you, Argennos. You really ought to work on your bedside manners. But never mind, I am in an incredibly good mood, and do you know why? Because not only do I have the pleasure of the company of my old friend Colonel Mitchell and my new friend Colonel Sheppard, but I also have the most exquisite news - my host is still alive."

Meaghan felt her bones turn to mush at his words and for a second she couldn't' see straight for fear.

Ba'al, when she looked at him, was still smiling. "It's true, isn't it, Doctor Monahan? I heard you. You're here to get this formula of the Chancellor's that was intended to stop the host's rapid growth when it had reached a satisfactory age. Now you see, I am familiar enough with your species to know that the only reason a reputedly intelligent young woman such as yourself would be doing such a _foolhardy_ thing as that, would be if she had someone she cared about to use it on."

Suddenly Meaghan didn't crave his protection any more. But she still held his arm, incapable of letting go, incapable of movement.

"Your child is still alive, isn't it, Doctor Monahan? My host has been saved and kept safe for me because you didn't have the self-control to reign in your maternal hormones or the primordial urge to have an offspring that needs you. It really is quite touching. You might be surprised to learn that we value our mothers, Doctor Monahan. Queen Go'a'ulds are highly respected amongst us. And if you do as I ask, I'll let you live that respected life in the role of the mother of my host. I've heard that you have some very interesting abilities that I could put to good use. But-" he paused for emphasis, "If you don't do as I tell you, I'll hand you over to the Chancellor here to play with to his heart's content."

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see anything but Ba'al and his eyes watching her every move. "What - what do you want me to do?"

"Doctor, Doctor, I presumed _that _would have been glaringly obvious. I want you to radio your friends on the _Iliad_ and have them beam down the child, of course."


	30. Happiness Is A Warm Gun (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by ProfessorZ.

** _(Boxing Day, 26 December, inside Ba'al's mothership.)_ **

Have Blake beamed down? Have Blake sent here to hand him over to Ba'al? Have Blake -

Meaghan fought with her muscles to gain control of her throat; licked her lips, and said, "No, I wo-"

Ba'al put his hand over her mouth.

She could see Sheppard and Mitchell behind him, trussed up like chickens waiting to become soup, their eyes gleaming with anger and frustration at their own helplessness. As for her brother... she avoided his gaze. Somewhere she could hear someone whimpering, and she guessed it was Anders, feeling another wave of guilt about letting her get him into this mess. Ba'al's warriors shifted restlessly.

And the go'a'uld had his hand over her mouth.

"You said I could have her," protested the Chancellor loudly in a wounded voice.

Ba'al didn't even deign him with a response. Not even so much as his eyes flickered in the Locruxian's direction to acknowledge that he'd heard the man speak. His full concentration was directed at Meaghan. "Think it through properly before you answer, Doctor Monahan. I'm much more reasonable than you may have been led to believe. I was a magnanimous god in my time," he chuckled at his own comment, but then his eyes hardened. "However, I only make my offers once, so I suggest you consider your answer with due care. Have your son beamed down here and I will treat you both well. You can watch him grow. Isn't that what you want most? You must understand that to have you at my side - considering yourself as either my guest or my hostage, as you sit fit - would help me most considerably in the task of taming the mind that the Chancellor supplied him with against my wishes. You note, I presume, that I use the word 'tame' and not 'destroy'. I was justifiably angry when I realised what kind of intellect your child would have. But thanks to you, Doctor, I have had plenty of time to consider the matter - hypothetically, I had believed. And I have come to the conclusion that there is no need for total annihilation, if I could but bend his will to mine. With your help, Doctor, he and I could be as the tok'ra and grow great in our partnership..." He paused. "And under those circumstances I would see no reason to damage the Iliad. I would let them leave peaceably and no-one would get hurt. Join me, lend me your abilities, and I will make you and your son great."

Meaghan knew there was no reason for her to believe a single word that came out of his mouth. The probability that he would actually do as he was saying was zilch. And yet somehow, in that moment, she did believe him. The world had shut down and there were only the two of them left. Her and Ba'al. Ba'al and her. He was evil and he was clever and he was hideous and he was oddly appealing. If she thought that he would - her mind paused. Of course, he wasn't the man standing in front of her. That man was nothing more than a husk, a set of clothes that the go'a'uld had put on for practicality's sake. That was what he would do with her son. He'd be there, some kind of parasite inside an innocent child. And even if he were telling the truth, and he wanted for some unknown and inexplicable Ba'al-reason to suddenly take up the life of a tok'ra, which so far as she knew he had always despised as weakness, could she really be the one to commit Blake to a half life?

Yet if she didn't, she was his executioner. Ba'al would destroy the Iliad if she refused; that much, she did believe beyond a doubt.

She wished desperately that she knew more about the go'a'uld race. Maybe Blake's mind would be strong enough to defeat him. Was that even possible?

And she'd be there, with him, at his side.

"Ba'al," repeated the Chancellor, his tone loud and offended, "You said I could have her!"

At the sound of Argennos' voice, Meaghan's grip on Ba'al's arm tightened. With Ba'al, maybe they had a chance. Maybe she could find a way, find a hope. Otherwise they were all destroyed. Her and Blake and Domenic and Rodney. Ba'al had an Ancient Sphere and she knew what kind of terrible technologies that put at his fingertips. It was a gamble. A deadly gamble. A gamble that was making her question her own sanity.

She breathed in and nodded, "I'll do it."

At the sound of her words, the Chancellor let out a howl of impotent rage. Nothing had gone right for him, nothing!

Ba'al made a barely perceptible motion that sent one of his guards hurrying to the Locruxian. That warrior grabbed the scientists' arms and held them up behind him so he couldn't move.

"I'd be silent if I were you," drawled Ba'al, "In a few minutes you will have become unnecessary ballast. If you behave yourself, I might find a use for you. Or at the very least, I'll kill you. If you don't - I'll let her."

Someone had flicked a switch and put her life on slow motion. The world had turned into some kind of surreal twilight zone.

Anything, anything for the ones she loved. Anything at all.

The strange thing was that Ba'al had even given her a choice.

* * *

** _(Near Ba'al's mothership.) _ **

Sam entered the temporary laboratory and wrinkled her nose at the smell. She had to agree with the marine's assessment that the place had most likely been hit by one of the experimental AST guns, because it was a mess. Equipment and wires littered the floor and she found herself stepping carefully amongst them in case some were still live. Her eyes adjusted to the half-light, and she looked around her, her heart sinking.

All of the walls had been lined with smallish tanks, most of them now shattered and oozing foul smelling green liquid. She stepped closer to inspect one, then wished she hadn't.

"Colonel," asked one of the men with a quiet voice, "Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

Sam continued to move carefully through the building. Whoever had been working in this lab - presumably, the Locruxian scientist - had been a very busy bee indeed. She glanced at her men and realised that they seemed to be expecting an answer to a question that she had presumed was rhetorical. She nodded curtly and said in a matter of fact voice, "Yes, Williams. They're human foetuses. Mostly male. All at different stages. I don't think I'd be going out on a limb to suggest that they were probably produced using Doctor Monahan's DNA. Argennos, to our knowledge, had none of the male DNA left. There certainly was some in his lab on Locrux when it was stormed, but Meaghan's was gone. I'd say he was trying to reproduce, quite literally, his experiment - for some reason without satisfactory success."

The results of his experiment had almost been all killed from the blast. Sam stood and watched one tank; saw a small heart beating and then stop.

"Can we help them?" asked another man in a compassionate voice.

She looked at him and then shook her head, "No. You'll notice that all the wires are frayed. And none of these foetuses are anywhere near old enough to survive outside a womb-like environment, and we simply don't have the facilities on the Iliad. Believe me, I don't like it any more than you do... There's nothing for us here." She wished she'd never entered in the first place. "Let's head to the mothership. This lab must have been important, so the fact that not a single soul has come out here to take care of it tells me two things. One, we're dealing with a particularly unpleasant lack of humanity here, and two, that Ba'al and the Chancellor are most definitely otherwise occupied. Come on."

"Should we radio Cautley?"

She paused then shook her head. "Let's maintain radio silence for now, until we haven(have) something concrete. No news is good news. And gentlemen - " she stopped walking and looked at them "- I don't want you discussing what you've seen here with anyone, is that clear? I'll make the appropriate reports. It's off topic, okay?" The little Australian had suffered enough; this was something she simply didn't need to know. Besides, Sam had meant it when she'd told Meaghan that she owed her. Saving her from this was the least she could do, even if the girl never knew she'd done it.

* * *

The radio was heavy in Meaghan's hand. Ba'al had given it to her; it was Mitchell's. To her surprise, she need to use both hands to hold it. The more detached part of her mind explained the phenomenon as shock.

"Colonel Cautley?" she asked, and her voice was wavering, "Ground to Iliad, are you there, Colonel Cautley? It's Meaghan, Meaghan Monahan."

There was a crackle and then his voice, angry, at the other end. "What in God's name do you think you're playing at, Doctor? If you had any idea of the bother that Doctor McKay has-"

There was a clunking sound and then, to her shock, Rodney was suddenly on the line. "What the hell got into you?" he shouted at her, "Leaving the squidget here and not telling him what was going on, eh? I almost - I mean, what kind of thing is that to do?"

The sound of his badly disguised concern made the back of her eyes prickle, but she ignored it. The time for crying was over and the time for mourning hadn't yet begun. "Rodney, sweetheart," she said, her voice suddenly astonishingly calm, "Shut up and listen." _Listen, because we're all dead anyway but I want to save you, because I love you, and I want to give Blake a chance, the one thing he hasn't got at the moment, because I love him too._ "We've found the formula," she said, and the lie fell off her tongue so smoothly that it made her sick, "but it's attached to some machine that can't be shifted. I want you to have Agnarr beam him down to me. Unconscious, please, the formula should kick in quicker that way. It's the best for all involved. You know we can't waste a minute. And Rodney, don't do anything stupid. It's s a bit mental down here and I don't want you getting in the way. Love you."

She broke the connection and handed Ba'al the radio back.

He blinked and then raised his eyebrows. "You love him? Really? That obnoxious little dumpling? It's just as well you're on my side now, Doctor, your tastes obviously need some refining. But - do you believe he'll do what you asked?"

Meaghan nodded tiredly and then shrugged. "I think so. He can be a bit unpredictable, but deep down he doesn't really like dangerous situations at the best of times, and besides, I think he'll trust me on this. He wouldn't believe that I'd put my child in any danger, would he?" She realised that she was avoiding using Blake's name, as though taken hold by some ancient, useless superstition that his name, kept a secret, would give him strength. How stupid she was getting.

Ba'al looked her over questioningly. "You have more strength than I thought. You will make a fine queen mother. New clothes, of course, will be in order. And you'll understand if I feel the need to get you a bodyguard for a while... for my own safety, of course. Though you know you won't kill me with your son at stake, will you? To kill me, you'd be killing him. And, in case you're interested, I have the formula in my pocket."

To her surprise, he laughed, and passed her back her AST gun.

She stared at him. That was how confident he was. She was impressed in an absent-minded kind of way. How well he'd read her, how well he had seen into her heart like some kind of emotional x-ray machine... He was right. She couldn't kill him, because without the formula, her son would die. And when he was - later - then he would be her son. She let the gun balance lightly on her hip, useless. Then there were Rodney and Domenic to consider. If she killed Ba'al, would his men blow up the Iliad, in revenge? She couldn't be sure. There was a reason a warrior, to be a real warrior, should have no attachments. Without them, she'd shoot him here and repercussions be damned. Instead she just looked at Sheppard and Mitchell behind him, then asked, "Will you let them go? They have no role in your plans." Perhaps she could save them, save her brother, too.

Ba'al looked at her, then looked at the men. Mitchell in particular seemed barely capable of comprehending what had just happened and he was staring at her in a way that made her want to bind his eyes before they put holes in her. Didn't he understand what was at stake here?

"Take them away for now," he snapped and the guards ushered them out, "I'll think about it. You know they have caused me considerable difficulties."

She nodded and then started slightly, because at that precise moment, a shaft of light that heralded Asgard beaming technology sprayed down before her. Her heart sunk. Firstly, at the knowledge of what she was actually doing, and secondly, at the realisation that the figure was many times too large. It was McKay holding Blake with one hand, unconscious like she'd asked, and a hand-gun in the other. Facing the wrong way. He turned and the expression on his face at the sight of her there next to Ba'al with a weapon on her hip almost knocked her cold. He pointed his weapon at Ba'al, then at her, and then seemed to waver between the two of them before asking, "Meaghan... what's going on?"

"Give her the child, Doctor McKay," ordered Ba'al in a quiet voice, then glanced at her. "I thought you said he trusted you."

"I did!" She didn't know if the sight of him there made her feel overjoyed or inordinately furious. She stepped towards him. "Give me him, Rodney, and no-one will get hurt."

"Are you nuts? What do you mean, no-one will get hurt? You're out of your mind. Of course he'll get hurt! You know what that creature has planned for him. I think I'd rather hand him over to a Wraith than that! To spend your life used as someone else -"

"Shut up!" Her voice broke as she realised she was pointing the AST gun in his direction and she let it hang limply down towards the floor."You don't understand, Rodney! Without the formula he's dead anyway, at least there's a chance... Like the tok'ra, Ba'al said. Isn't that something? I love him too much to just let him die."

"Love him? You're loving him to living death, Meaghan."

Ba'al stepped between them. "As charming as this little domestic might be under other circumstances, that's quite enough. Give me the child, Doctor, if you won't give him to his mother."

But then a whole lot of things happened all at once. Suddenly the Chancellor had rushed at Ba'al and snatched a familiar vial from his coat - Rodney had moved out of Ba'al's reach and fired off a round - and Ba'al had reached out to grab the vial back before Argennos could destroy it - and then there was a bright explosion followed half a heartbeat later by the massive noise that should have accompanied it.

Meaghan let the gun point back down at the ground and shut her eyes.

The temptation had been too great.

"You killed him!" shouted McKay and looked revolted beyond compare down at his clothes. He had wrapped an arm around Blake's head. "God damn it, Meaghan, you killed him!"

She dropped the weapon with a clatter to her feet and ignored him. "Give me the formula, Ba'al."

The go'a'uld shook his head. "No, I think I'll keep it for the time being, thanks. This as well." He reached over to a table and scooped up a round object. The Sphere. The table wobbled dangerously; it had caught the edge of the blast.

"And now, the child, Doctor McKay."

Ba'al had Rodney's pistol in his hand. Rodney must have dropped it to cover up Blake. The Canadian stepped backwards, a stubborn look on his face. Then there was another bang, somehow louder in Meaghan's ears even though her brain told her it must have been softer, and McKay was on the floor. Ba'al leant over and scooped up Blake. All Meaghan could think was that she was glad the child was unconscious.

She wiped a spattering of the Chancellor, and Rodney's blood, from her face and was silent. At some stage she'd started to cry. Did that mean the time for mourning had come?


	31. Happiness Is A Warm Gun (Part Three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by ProfessorZ.

** _(Boxing Day, 26 December. Inside Ba'al's mothership; outside the room where McKay is.)_ **

"I mean _now, _Colonel Cautley." Samantha spoke quietly, but with authority, into her radio. "I've just seen most of our men being escorted under guard to another part of the mothership. As soon as they're stationary, you should have them beamed out. Agnarr will be able to locate them via Mitchell and Anders' locator chips, so long as they're left together."

"What about the woman? And Doctor McKay?"

"I don't know where the others are, but there's been shooting. It's not good down here, sir. I want Agnarr ready to beam me, my team, and everyone else in the room with us on my command. I don't think it's going to be pretty." She broke the connection, and then, with a sign to her men, they burst into the room.

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't what she found.

Rodney McKay lay alone, on the floor, in a room that looked like it had been half blown up with an AST gun. Possibly taking someone out in the process. Sam ignored the debris and knelt rapidly to check his pulse. He was alive, but barely, which was to be expected, given that it looked like he'd been shot point-blank in the chest.

She raised her radio again. "Colonel, have you beamed up Sheppard and the others?"

He gave the affirmative. She snapped a locator bracelet onto McKay. "Beam up locator 104 as well."

McKay vanished.

Sam motioned the men forwards and murmured, "We'll find her, Rodney, you'll see. Just... this ship's pretty big."

To her horror, at that moment she felt it start to take off.

* * *

Colonel Cautley stared impatiently out the viewscreen. "What do I do, Sam?"

Her voice had the edge of stress to it. "Nothing. Follow us. Keep your distance. I want to get the Sphere and our people out of here before you start anything. Let me talk to Agnarr."

The CO nodded angrily in the direction of the Asgard.

Agnarr blinked. "Yes, Colonel Carter?"

"Hi, Agnarr. Look, it's important that we get the Sphere out. But we want Meaghan and the kid too, right? So let me have as much time as possible before beaming me out, regardless of what happens. Your call, okay?"

"Certainly, Colonel Carter." He looked at Colonel Cautley emotionlessly, "She says it is my call."

* * *

Meaghan sat on a chair in Ba'al's throne room. She guessed that no more than fifteen minutes could have passed since Ba'al had shot Rodney fair in the chest, but in that time she'd been rapidly bathed and dressed in clean clothes by some of Ba'al's girls. Blake lay on an exotic looking rug at her feet. She couldn't bring herself to touch him, as though afraid that through her skin he might sense her agony and wake from his chemically induced sleep. As it was, it was making her head ache to keep a mental wall between them.

"Is Rodney dead?" she asked Ba'al mechanically.

He shrugged. "I can send someone to see if you'd like confirmation."

She fell silent.

Here she was, dressed up in ridiculous clothes, her son at her feet like a child sacrifice, and Ba'al less than a metre away with the formula in his pocket. This was the hard part; the fact that she'd killed Rodney in the process made it that much harder. She was having a great deal of trouble concentrating on the job at hand, but with a massive quantity of icy detachment she was just managing it.

She turned her head back to Ba'al. The ship was moving and he had opened the viewscreen to observe space. It was admittedly more impressive from the _Iliad_, probably because she actually found the ship itself more attractive. It had the aesthetics down better.

"Ba'al," she addressed him seriously, "Am I the queen mother now?"

"Yes."

"I'm surprised -" she paused.

"What? Surprised that I kept my word? Surprised that I didn't have you killed the moment I had what I wanted? I see no need to waste valuable resources, Doctor. A woman like you could be useful if she knew the full extent of her powers. And like I said, I was a magnanimous god."

"So I can do what I want?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Within reason."

The words spilled out of her. "Well, you must have a sarcophagus around here. Let me bring Rodney back."

He smiled indolently. "We'll see. Although, I must admit that I too am a little surprised -"

She frowned, and fought to push down her anger at his indifference about Rodney's fate. When she spoke, her voice was calm. "Surprised that I'm taking it so well? This is my son we're talking about, Ba'al. I don't want him to die. He'd be dead in two years at this rate, you know that. Anything has to be better. And besides, you've done me a favour. The Chancellor has been destroyed."

The go'a'uld smiled broadly, "Females are such complex creatures. You hate the Chancellor for what he did to you, yet you love the product of it? Fierce attribute for a woman."

"I'm a mother."

"Of course."

Meaghan stood up abruptly, and walked to the centre of the throne room, feeling the skirts of the long dressed he'd found her wafting around her legs. For a moment she just stared out the viewport, then turned and wandered back to him. "May I look at it?"

"Look at what?"

She conjured up what she hoped was a disarming smile. "The formula of course. Hasn't that been the whole point? I want to see what Rodney McKay died for."

Ba'al paused and then pulled the Sphere out of his pocket instead. "This is prettier," he said.

He tossed it to her and she caught it, looked at it briefly, and then let it roll out of her hands to fall with a soft _plump _onto the rich rug where Blake lay. "I don't care about that, you can do what you want with it." She flitted her eyes towards him; looked at him almost teasingly, "What are you afraid of, Ba'al? That I'll break it like the Chancellor wanted? You don't seriously believe that, do you? Just let me protect it. You know I've given my life for it."

And he did what she asked. A wave of humiliation washed over her. The knowledge that he felt so little threatened by her was oddly wounding. That he thought her so incapable of any motion against him made her angry. Nor was she flattered that he trusted her. She hated him, his indifference, his pride, with every inch of her being. But she said nothing, let nothing show on her face, just took the vial gently from his hands and held it up to the light to get a better look at it. It was beautiful.

It was all she needed.

Before he could make a move she had knelt and jabbed the needle of the vial deep into her son's thigh and then sprang to her feet and stood here, holding the empty glass cylinder up at him mockingly. "Enter him now, Ba'al. Go on. Take a child host. Be a four year old god. You can do that now you have a queen mother." And her eyes, always plain brown, flashed suddenly pale gold.

Outraged, Ba'al let out a roar of anger and jumped to his feet. She merely glanced at him, and Rodney's gun, which had appeared in his hand, was disentangled from his fingers against his will and tossed at a wall with such force that it left a dint, then slid down and came to a halt on the floor with a nasty _crack_. A second later the ZAT he had pulled from somewhere followed it.

Ba'al grew very still and watched her as though he'd just discovered a cobra about to strike.

"Haven't you learnt _anything_ yet, Ba'al?" she asked quietly, her golden eyes watching him calmly, "You were right to say that I didn't know the full extent of my own powers, go'a'uld. I never dreamt the things I could do, but thanks to you, thanks to the position you put me in, it's all becoming very clear. I can feel the strength rushing up into me like lightening in a storm. I can see into your mind, you know. Both your minds. The mind of the man whose life you've stolen and the mind of the parasite that is really you. I can play your memories through my fingers like sand... you should know by now not to trust us, Ba'al. Humans. Women. People willing to make deals with you. People with more power than you. Look at Adria."

She forced him to his knees with her mind and he let out a low, harsh curse, but obeyed. A slight frown flitted across her face. "I don't have to kill you, Ba'al. I could. But I don't have to. I despise you, but I despise spiders and still carry them outside rather than grinding them under my heel. At the moment, _you_ are my spider, Ba'al. You wanted to infect my son with your evil little mind. You killed the man I love. You threatened everyone, everything, I hold dear."

He made an inarticulate, furious noise.

"Shut up!" she snapped, then smiled, and continued in the eerily conversational voice she'd been using since she'd disarmed him. "I would kill you, you know, but there's already too much blood on my hands and I don't like how it feels. So instead, you're going to let us go and you're not going to come after us. Because if you do, I will destroy you, turn you into a thousand grains of nothingness scattered in the depths of space. Have you understood?"

She let his voice free and he retorted proudly, "You're making a mistake, foolish woman. You should kill -"

The _whizz _and blue of a ZAT streamed across the room as the weapon at the base of the wall stunned him on her command.

"I know, Ba'al," she sighed, "I know." She turned towards the controls of his ship. Where was the radio on this thing? She pressed a button and to her horror, the locked door slid open and men rushed in. She raised her hand in defense but then Samantha Carter's voice rang out, "_No, Meaghan_!" and suddenly, at that point, it was all too much. She dropped her hand and just stood there.

"Agnarr!" shouted Sam into her radio, and then slammed her hand down on the self-destruct panel. "Now would be a good time!"

* * *

** _(On board the Iliad.)_ **

Chaos. Pure and utter chaos.

"Thanks, Agnarr," came Sam's voice, warm with gratitude. Then the sound of applause. Scuffling feet as marine's lugged Ba'al away. People rushing about doing their jobs.

And then Meaghan's shouting cutting through it all, "_Blake_! Where's Blake?"

Silence.

Agnarr blinked at his controls. "It appears that he has withdrawn into himself - did you give him the formula?"

She nodded, panicked.

"The impact would be impressive on his mind and body. He will have shut down, and with the added effects of the induced coma. Although it will only be very temporary... I am sorry. I cannot detect his life signs."

"But he's alive!"

"Oh, God," murmured Sam, her hand reaching out for the other woman, "God, the ship's going to blow."

Then in the middle of it all, Cautley's voice: "If that ship blows, it'll take us with it. Agnarr, get us out of here. _Now. _That's an order."

"Agnarr!" Meaghan, pleading.

But the Asgard had vanished.

It was as though time had stood still. Everyone on the bridge turned to stare out the viewscreen at Ba'al's mothership suspended in front of them.

"Shields up!" yelled Colonel Cautley.

"No!" protested Sam, "Wait, if you put the shields up, he can't come back!"

"Shields up and that's a damn order!"

The shields came up and half a second later, Ba'al's ship exploded. The force reached the _Iliad_ and knocked most of them from their feet.

When they stood up, Agnarr was amongst them with Blake at his feet, wide eyed and conscious again.

"We... don't take... orders," said the Asgard, patted Blake upon the head - and crumpled.

Sam leant down and checked for a sign of life. She glanced back up at the others and shook her head. "Beaming himself in and out of the blast and protecting..."

Blake stared up at them all staring down at him; even his mother, a silent shocked look in her strange golden eyes, as though she couldn't work out what to do now he was alive and well and in front of her. Then the boy squatted his solid little legs down beside the Asgard's body and put a hand on the small grey chest. His bottom lip started to tremble.

"Agnarr is empty," he said, and then let out a mournful wail.


	32. If You've Got Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by ProfessorZ.
> 
> And guess what? It was researching for this fic that led me to discover that I'm a dual citizen myself! Duuuude, and people say fanfic has no purpose! :o

** _(29 December, Iliad.)_ **

Meaghan sat at his bedside and watched him in silence. It seemed hard to believe that not even a month had passed since she'd last sat in an infirmary waiting for him to recover. That time, she'd realised that he meant something to her. This time, all she could think about was what he was going to say when he woke up.

It was certain, at least, that he _would _wake up. There had been some touch and go moments for a while there, but the medics on the _Iliad_ were accustomed to patching people up after the worst circumstances, and apparently Rodney was made of tougher stuff than he looked. Only half an hour ago, when she'd finally been let in to see him, Doctor Murray had smiled and assured her that McKay would be back to his "normally unpleasant self" before she knew it.

It was the first time they'd let her near him since they'd been on Ba'al's mothership. She'd spent hours under lock and key at Cautley's orders, since the CO didn't believe she wasn't somehow working with Ba'al, despite Sam's repeated explanations of the circumstances she'd found them in. Cautley was still furious at the way Meaghan had lied to him when she was down on the planet; furious that he'd lost the ship's Asgard; and most of all furious that the Sphere had been blown up along with Ba'al's ship. There were moments, sitting in a holding cell opposite Ba'al himself, when Meaghan had been able to use her empathy and understand where Cautley was coming from. But those moments were rather rare. Mostly she had just wanted to see Blake, and, when someone had finally got around to telling her that Rodney was on board and alive, she'd yelled her throat raw with her need to see him too. Eventually she'd undergone five hours being poked and prodded by medics and the ship's psychologist, and Cautley had been forced to let her go - only to take her into interrogation with a senior officer about how she had defeated Ba'al but hadn't managed to save the Sphere.

In the end, when she'd screamed at them that she hadn't even managed to save her own son, let alone a stupid chunk of metal, they'd given that up as well, and Cautley had simply growled that Landry could deal with her.

Finally, _finally_ they had let her free to go and watch the tests being done on her son - Dom, as his next of kin, had put his foot down and said they had to wait until she was present. Tests, to confirm that the formula had really worked.

"Hey."

Meaghan shook herself back to the present and glanced down at Rodney, smiling tentatively at the sound of his voice.

He was looking at her a little cautiously, and the realisation hurt her.

"Hey," she said in response, and then shook her son gently. "Look, Blake, Dad's awake." The boy had fallen asleep on the edge of the bed, half on her lap and half on the blankets. She guessed he was exhausted; not just physically, but emotionally as well. Still, he sat up with a slightly dozy look on his face, knuckled his eyes, and then stared at McKay. Eyes smiling in sudden joy he stood up and threw his little body at his father, squeezing Rodney's neck tightly. Rodney let out a yelp of pain at the weight on his chest and Meaghan picked the boy up quickly and sat him on Rodney's pillow instead. He stayed put happily, his hands on his father's head, and gave his Dad a couple of enthusiastic upside down kisses on the forehead.

Rodney reached up, still wincing, and gave the boy's knee a squeeze, and then asked, as though he almost didn't want to know, "Are we - is he -?"

"On the _Iliad_," Meaghan confirmed, "And he's fine, Rodney. He's had the formula and Doctor Murray says the tests are all positive; it really is working. And - he even spoke."

"He _spoke_?" Blake had never spoken before.

"Yes. A whole sentence."

Rodney looked at her intently and said quietly, "And you -?"

She didn't say anything, but watched her son smiling at his father. Then the boy slid down from the pillow, curled up against his old man, and shut his eyes again. "He's tired," Meaghan commented in a soft voice, "You know, Agnarr died, Rodney, saving our little boy. It's shaken Blake up a fair bit."

The scientist bit his lip. "Shaken as much as it shook me to see you standing there at Ba'al's side, pointing a weapon at me?"

"Oh, Rodney, it was the only way. He had to think I was - I _told _you not to come - it was the only way - I got the formula, Rodney - we're going home..."

"You weren't planning to really let that thing make Blake his host?"

"What do you think?" _Oh God, answer it yourself Rodney. Don't make me tell you that in the beginning I believed it was my only choice. Don't make me tell you that was my intention. Don't make yourself hate me._

He didn't answer, instead looked at her silently, then put his hand out and touched her face. "What happened to your eyes? They've changed colour."

"They - I - I figured out how it works, Rodney. Backed into a corner like I was, suddenly everything Agnarr had been trying to teach me made sense and it sort of exploded inside me. Doctor Murray has a theory that... I don't know. He thinks the colour of my eyes is connected."

"And are you going to get your hazel ones back?"

She shrugged, "I don't know."

"And now - do you still, you know?"

She glanced at the water jug by his bed and sent it hovering around the room before setting it back down on the table.

"Oh."

"Exactly. I made Ba'al kneel, Rodney. I threatened to disintegrate him into space dust and I could have done it - I could do it. I understand now why the ascended ones have forbidden themselves from interfering with our plane of existence. I don't think humans were ever meant to have the - possibilities - in them that I do now."

He brushed his hand along her cheek and then dropped it onto hers, where she held his other hand, against the bedspread. "It'll be okay now, Meaghan. It's over. We're going home."

** _   
_**

* * *

**_  
(31 December, Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy.)_ **

Elizabeth Weir sat at her desk and tried to concentrate. She didn't normally have the slightest bit of difficulty burying herself in her work. If anything, the very act of burial was usually quite therapeutic. But today... Besides, there wasn't very much to do; her temporary replacement had been deeply efficient. She sighed, pushed her chair back from the desk and went and stood at the window and stared out across the ocean. It was good to be home. She had almost forgotten how it smelt here; the saltiness and the tang of the wind. All the best bits about the seaside but minus the annoyingly itchy grains of sand and the ice-cream stands. Not that she had anything intrinsically against ice-cream.

She shook her head slightly as though to clear it from such nonsensical thoughts and then went back to her laptop, and scrolled down the latest message that the IOC had sent via the _Daedalus _that morning. A damage report, basically, about the _Iliad's _mission. That the Sphere had been found, and then destroyed. That the Chancellor was dead. That Ba'al was currently cooling his heels in a cell. Then she paused, scrolled back a little way in surprise at the next paragraph, then tapped her radio and said quickly, " Carson , could you come to my office for a moment. I've just received some information that you'll want to read."

A few minutes later he was there, leaning over her desk and his eyes wide. "Well I never," he murmured when he came to the end. Then, to her shock, he turned around and wrapped her in a bear hug, swinging her around with a happy beam on his face before he remembered suddenly who she was, and put her down again with a sheepish expression. "You'll have to forgive me, Elizabeth, it's not that I didn't like the little tyke but -"

She laughed despite herself, his happiness quite contagious. "Don't worry, Carson , you don't have to explain it to me."

He grinned, "It'll be a right mess though, Rodney McKay as a father!"

She raised an eyebrow, "Wonders will never cease. Although I have to admit I'm astonished that the IOC has given the go-ahead for her and the boy to return to Atlantis. I know they want him here where they can study him - and her too now, I suppose - but still... I'm not sure any of us are really ready for babies in Atlantis. It was hectic enough when the Athosian children were here."

"I'm sure that a child bred from the genes of a Monahan and a McKay will be even more trouble," laughed Carson , and then looked a little more serious before adding, "Although, have they thought it all through? The risks, with the wraith and all?"

She skimmed the remained of the message, "It seems they think Blake Monahan is so out of the ordinary that maybe he'll be happier here." She sighed, "Either way the IOC has granted them permission, and they'll be here on the next _Daedalus _trip."

Carson glanced at her cautiously, "And?"

She looked at him, knowing that he wanted to ask if John would be back with them as well, but answered, as if she didn't know, "And that'll be in about a month's time because apparently Meaghan has also been granted the leave that she has missed through this fiasco." Then Elizabeth frowned slightly, "And so has Doctor McKay."

Carson let a cheeky grin slip onto his face, "You don't think - what with the shared parenthood and all - that they -?"

Elizabeth couldn't help but grin back, though she groaned with it, "I'd rather not think it."

For a moment they laughed, and then he hurried off out of the office to tell Laura the good news about the baby.

** _   
_**

* * *

**_  
(31 December, Stargate Command , Utah , USA .)_ **

Sam beamed them down into the Briefing Room - it was, when you thought about it, a marvel of science how they managed to avoid beaming inside the furniture - and when they arrived they all just stood there for a moment or two looking awkward. It had been, beyond doubt, an eventful journey. Meaghan found that things always grew a little complicated at the end of eventual journeys, as people tended to pull back a little, mostly without even knowing they were. So that the goodbyes wouldn't seem too bad. And, in this case, so that it wasn't as noticeable that some people were missing.

Perhaps because she was a little melancholy herself, Meaghan turned crankily towards the Lowell woman - who happened to be beside her and was in the process of pulling a cigarette from her pocket (which was disturbing evidence of how ineffective that search of her a few weeks earlier had been), and said in a dangerous voice, "Lowell, you revolting woman, if you light that thing within a two mile radius of my son," (she hiked Blake up her hip as though to punctuate her words), "-then I swear I'll shove it up one of your nostrils."

Lowell threw back her head and roared with laughter, thumped Sheppard on the back with such gusto that he had to grab the back of a chair to stay on his feet, and said, "And that, _fanciullo_¸ is why you never upset a hormonal woman! I tell you, the female of the species is always the most dangerous!" And with that, she shoved the cigarette back in her pocket and pulled out some gum instead.

When the debriefing with General Landry was over, and most of the others had made their goodbyes and gone off to find some civilian clothes and head off for some civilian food, Colonel Sheppard moseyed over to Domenic, looked at him for a second, and then said, "So. I hear you're not hanging around in the base while Meaghan and Blake play guinea pig?"

Dom shook his head, "Not much point. She's the one with the super powers, not me. I might go home, make up to Mum for the pair of us missing Christmas - and there's a girl... or at lest there was a girl, but after going MIA for so long... I don't know." he shrugged.

"But you're coming back, right? I mean, they've offered you a job in Atlantis again, above board this time, right?"

The biologist nodded, "In writing and signed in triplicate."

John gave him a look, "You're taking it, then? We could do with a few more scientists who are good in a fight."

The younger man shrugged again, "I haven't made up my mind. I mean, it's a big thing... anyway, they've given me till the day before the _Daedalus _leaves to decide, which is decent of them."

"You'd be mad to turn it down." Sheppard was looking at him critically.

Dom just laughed, "Oh, and you jumped at the offer the minute it was made, did you?"

"Well - er - not _instantly_. But I think your sister would like it if you came out to the Pegasus Galaxy with us."

Both men looked over to the table where Blake sat scrawling on a wad of blank paper which Landry (who had taken an instant liking for the boy) had given him, while McKay and Meaghan stood next to him, very close, and argued in loud voices with the General about the boy's citizenship, the tests that would be done, where they could go during her leave, and what Meaghan was supposed to tell her mother. McKay put his hand around Meaghan's waist and at that point Dom looked back at Sheppard, and, rolling his eyes, said, "Yes, well, obviously her mental stability is in doubt. You know she wants to spend time back home before the _Daedalus_ arrives? Back in Australia ? And she actually wants to take McKay with her? McKay, in our hometown, can you imagine it? The relatives will eat him for breakfast..."

Sheppard grinned, "So, what are you planning on doing in the short term, kid?"

Dom shrugged, "Like I said, I'm not sure. You've got a fair sized country here and I'm told there's some landscape _almost _as good as what we've got Down Under. Any suggestions...?"

* * *

** _(A little bit later...)_ **

The official, who introduced himself as Reginald, took one look at the little family as they came through the door, and said in a slightly amazed voice, "Well, he's a bit big for this - where've you people been, Antarctica?"

Meaghan and McKay exchanged a glance that spoke volumes, and then sat in the chairs opposite him at the desk, Blake on his father's lap and immediately digging his toy Asgards out to wander along the length of the table in his small hands. McKay sat a little awkwardly; although he was up and about thanks to some of the nifty medicines the SGC could provide that a regular hospital couldn't, that didn't mean he wasn't still healing.

Meaghan smiled at the bureaucrat and asked carefully, "You _do _have full clearance, right?"

Reginald nodded, slightly miffed at her question, and pulled out a sheaf of papers form his briefcase. "Right. So we're doing the genuine birth certificate first - though I understand we're saying he was born in Australia for the mock ups?"

"Yes," said Meaghan firmly, before Rodney could answer. They'd argued about this. That Blake was allowed duel Australian/Canadian citizenship had been confirmed, but the pretend place of birth had been a touchy subject.

Reginald nodded, then pulled out a pen and said, "Fine. Given names?"

Again it was Meaghan who answered, "Blake Agnarr."

Rodney turned and stared at her, "You're naming him after the _Asgard_?!"

Both Meaghan and her son frowned at him, offended. "Do you have a problem with that, McKay? They were close friends, you know, and he _did _save Blake's life."

"I saved his life too, remember?"

Meaghan glanced at Blake, whose face had gotten that sad, resigned look to it whenever Agnarr was mentioned, and hissed, "You didn't die in the process."

The Canadian gave her one of his superior looks and started, "Yes, but -"

She glanced at the official, who was watching them with a bemused expression on his face, and then glared back at her child's father and snapped, "Isn't it enough that he's getting your surname, Rodney?"

The physicists' mouth opened and shut silently, then he stammered, "My - my what? But -"  
Reginald made a small coughing noise and said, "Thank you, Doctor Monahan. That was my next question. McKay, isn't it?"

She nodded curtly, "Exactly. Small ‘c', big ‘K'. Blake Agnarr McKay."

Rodney was still spluttering, "But you've always called him Monahan, right form the start."

Her irritation at his attitude dissolved a little at the look of complete and utter confusion on his face and she shook her head, smiled slightly and said in a soft voice, "At the start, I didn't know he was yours."

All he managed to say in response to that was a very small and very astonished, "Oh."

By now Reginald was completely lost. He was used to dealing with high ranking couples, usually in the defence forces or in the diplomatic corp. - and if there was anything this couple wasn't, it was diplomatic. He made another coughing nose and asked, "Well? Is that the name, or not?"

Meaghan looked at Rodney. "Go on. Speak now or forever hold your peace."

A whole rack of emotions passed across his face, but then Blake bent his head back to look at him and said, "Daddy?"  
It was the first time the word had ever passed his lips, and only the second time he'd spoken. Rodney beamed at the squidget, then beamed at the official and said, "Yes, that's my son's name."

Poor Reginald just shook his head, noted it down, and then said, "Thanks. Now, place and date of birth?"

Meaghan and Rodney exchanged another look and this time it was Rodney who answered, saying, "Um, this could be a little more complicated..."


	33. Like Dreamers Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by ProfessorZ.

** _(05 January, Rodney McKay's apartment)_ **

'So this is where you live-live?' she asked as he turned the key in the door and switched on a light. It was dark and musty and she wrinkled her nose, walked straight across the living room without even glancing sideways, and pulled up the blinds and threw the windows open. By that time he had dumped a sleeping Blake (and it was incredible what that kid weighed when he was asleep) ungraciously on the lounge, and was shoving their bags in with his feet, since she'd left them standing outside. Only then did she finally look around. 'Okay - so I guess it's just about what I'd imagined, but -'

Meaghan blinked and realised that she was talking to herself, since Rodney had vanished and Blake was obviously dead to the world. 'Uh - Rodney?'

He appeared back at the door, a disappointed expression on his face. 'She's not in. I rang and rang. She must be at work - although I can't remember what she does. I guess she must do something, I mean, she's paying rent, right -'

Meaghan was looking at him blankly and said, hands on hips, 'What are you babbling about, Rodney? If I've come all this way and you've got a girl stashed somewhere I'll be both astonished and seriously annoyed, and then I'll break your nose again on Blake's behalf and make it a Monahan trifecta.'

He frowned in confusion, then, 'Oh, please. I'm talking about my neighbour. She's got my cat.' He paused, then had a brainwave, 'Hey, maybe I can get the caretaker to open her door and - yes -' He nodded to himself and vanished again, leaving her completely flabbergasted in his wake. 'Wonders will never cease,' she murmured to the oblivious Blake, 'Turns out your old man's a cat person. You'd think a dog would suit his ego better but - just goes to show, doesn't it?' Then she grinned and stared poking around in his stuff because she knew he would get nerved at her doing it when he wasn't there.

Now that all the poking and prodding was over, and Blake was a legal citizen of Earth, they'd finally been let out of the SGC and - since they hadn't been able to get a flight to Australia at the drop of a hat - Rodney had brought her to his place. The flat told her quite a few things. One was that if he could pay rent for it to do nothing but just sit there for years on end, then Heads of Department were obviously paid a helluva lot better than lowly linguists. Two was that he had very boring decorating tastes. A third thing was that despite being a scientist he obviously hadn't mastered the basic concept that milk left untouched for a few years _will _turn into toxic waste, even inside a fridge - at which point she stopped in her investigations to start throwing out 99 percent of the things in his kitchen. She was just dumping a pair of very full and very gross black plastic rubbish bags outside in the walkway, when she heard Rodney and - presumably - the caretaker arrive. She stood at the door and watched them come, the caretaker an elderly man with a furrowed brow, and Rodney bullying him in no uncertain terms to unlock the neighbour's flat.

She wiped her hands on her jeans and said, 'Hi. If he's annoying you, I can beat him up for you.'

The caretaker stared at her in surprise, and then returned her open grin while McKay snapped, fuming, 'He's being difficult!'

'_He's _right beside you, Rodney. Nice to meet you, by the way, I'm Meaghan.'

They shook hands, went through the usual conversation about where exactly someone with her accent came from - no, not South Africa - and then he ended with, 'By rights, I'm not supposed to unlock the apartments unless it's an emergency or I've been left express instructions that a plumber or someone is coming.'

'Oh, please, there are exceptions to everything.'

Meaghan gave him The Look, and said, 'Rodney - go and wake your son up enough to make him go to the loo and then put him to bed somewhere, unless you want him waking _you _up in the middle of the night because he had an accident.'

Rodney's face flared red in embarrassment, and he vanished. Three minutes of sweet talking, and a polite note left on the fridge explaining the absence of both cat and some tins of food, and she was saying goodbye to the old man at Rodney's door, grinning at his admission that he was surprised Doctor McKay had had a son and he'd never known about it. Still grinning, she shut the door and dropped the cat on a pile of clothes that she supposed must have been clean some year or two ago, and then chuckled to herself at the sound of Rodney's frustrated voice in the distance informing his son that yes, he did have to use the toilet - and she decided to continue in her exploration of his home.

Which was when she found the piano.

It was tucked in a corner of the living room, hidden behind junk and half a bookshelf, and covered in a heavy blanket that he must have picked up one time when he was at the SGC, because it was standard military issue. She pulled all the stuff away, copped a lung full of dust for her troubles, and was standing there coughing and sneezing when McKay appeared at the door, his paternal duties apparently fulfilled. 'What do you think you're doing?' he demanded, more than a little cross.

Oh, God, not _another_ private-space lecture. She'd just about had all she could take of them... Meaghan dug around in her pocket for a tissue. He'd insisted she start carrying them because he was sick of seeing her wipe her nose on her clothes, to which she'd replied that they were a phenomenal waste of paper, at which point he'd found her eco-friendly ones. The one she found looked a bit worse for the wear, but she still wiped her eyes and blew her nose loudly, before shoving it back in her pocket and saying, 'I was looking for the piano.'

He narrowed his eyes, 'How did you even know it was here?'

'A wild guess. But Sam told me you used to play and so -'

He'd been walking over crankily, but now stopped dead. 'You - and Sam - talking - about me?'

She grinned broadly, 'You bet. Once I got over myself and started helping her with repairs. Favourite topic of conversation - swapping funny Rodney stories. She said she'd never met anyone with a better knack for irritating the hell out of her,' she paused, 'Actually, Sam said I wasn't supposed to tell you that in case you somehow managed to somehow think it was a compliment.' She glanced at him tentatively, 'You know she's gotten engaged, right?'

He nodded, looked at her piercingly, 'She sent me an invitation. Doctor Rodney McKay plus one, I think.'

Silence. 'So. Will you go? You - you don't seem as cut up about it as I thought you would be.'

He seemed almost surprised, and answered thoughtfully, 'You know - you're right. Odd, isn't it? I mean, all that time and then -' he broke off, shot her an indefinable look and then said, 'Besides, we'll be back in the Pegasus Galaxy by then and somehow I doubt we'll get more leave, don't you think?'

She turned, pleased at his presumption that she would be his 'plus one', lifted the lid on the piano and pressed a few white keys randomly.

'Oh,' he said, 'Still in tune. Can you play?' He came to stand at her shoulder, his breath on her hair.

She glanced at him, pressed a black key. 'Nah. It was up there on my grandfather's list of a young lady's accomplishments, but apparently my hands are too small.' She turned back to him, which was awkward given how little space he'd left between them, and raised her hand with its fingers spread. He put his own hand to it, the fingers stopping short of his last joints, and folded them down onto her fingers from behind. Her arm tingled.

They hadn't been alone - really and truly alone - ever before. Always, there'd been someone else, in some way. Someone on a radio, a friend dropping by, someone in a hallway, someone who would burst in and demand that the world needed fixing and one of them was the person for the job. He seemed to realise it the same time as she did, and his hand on hers grew warm. Behind his forehead she could see him doing the maths, knew he was calculating the weeks since Blake had been born. 25 days on the _Iliad_. 10 days in the SGC. 35 days. Just over a month. They'd blinked and the time had passed.

'Play me something, Rodney,' she whispered in a warm, hoarse voice.

He put his other hand on her waist, gave her one of his wry, half-smiles. 'I haven't touched a keyboard in years, at least, not the musical type. Sam told you that my playing was clinical?'

She nodded, loved the fact that he was bitter about it, or at least, the fact that he cared. She'd already suspected when she'd danced with him, sometimes when she saw him listening to music she had playing, that he had more of a musical soul than he cared to admit. She slipped her fingers down between his, and squeezed tight, 'You should have said, up yours, and taken up the castanets.'

He rolled his eyes, hand sliding up beneath her shirt, 'No. They were right. It was clinical.'

'But you could have played just because you loved it.'

He shrugged, 'I did - I do - when I'm here. My cat has no musical education, she can't tell clinical from inspired. At least, she doesn't run off in offence.'

He'd slipped the hand inside the band of her jeans.

She untwined her fingers and put both arms around his neck, 'Play something for me, Rodney. Pretend I'm the cat.'

He grinned slowly, 'Right now, that would make me a very unnatural and problemed man, Meaghan Monahan.'

She shivered under his touch and then stood on tippy-toes, and whispered, 'Play something for me, Rodney, or else you'll be an unnatural, problemed, and unsatisfied man, who'll never get to find out where my other tattoos are.' And then she grinned at his expression, shimmied out of his arms, and pushed him onto the stool, leaning over him from behind, hands lightly on his neck. He groaned, gave her a long-suffering look, and said, 'Fine, you black hearted little tease.'

He started something, and hit false notes, then shook her hands of him and said, 'If you seriously want me to play, you're going to have to go and sit silently on the sofa, and shut your eyes, and do nothing but listen, because at the moment I can't think straight.'

She chuckled, obeyed, and said, 'Why do I have to shut my eyes?'

He smirked at her happily, 'Because just knowing you're watching me is hot. Now shut up already.'

She almost regretted her decision to ask him to play - but then he put his hands to the piano.

And he played. With her eyes shut she sank deep into the music. At first, he was slow and cautious, as though his hands had forgotten the motions, but then it changed. She peeked her eyes open and saw that his broad shoulders had relaxed, his body moving ever so slightly with the music.

My god. It was beautiful. It was goddamn beautiful.

A musical soul? A whole musical being -

'Don't stop,' she murmured, and he didn't, but played like he'd never played before.

And it wasn't in the least bit clinical.

* * *

She woke the next morning to the smell of pikelets and the sound of piano, a simple tune this time, and she realised that she must have fallen asleep on the loungechair. 'Mmm,' she mumbled, and sat up, eyes still shut. 'Now that's a good morning a girl could get used to. Though I think I'm going to regret sleeping on the lounge...' she glanced upwards as one of McKay's slightly calloused hands massaged her neck, and she opened her eyes to find him passing her a cup of black tea. She drank half the cup, and then kissed him hello.

And realised, finally, that if he were here, then he couldn't be the one on the piano. His grin broadened as he realised that she had realised.

Blake sat on a pile of cushions on the stool, his most concentrated, and Rodney-like, expression on his face, and played.

She almost lost the tea, and McKay had to take it back out of her hands.

'How -?'

'He must have heard me playing last night. It was the first thing he did this morning, grabbed my hand and dragged me over with that look of his when he's determined to learn something new.'

'And you just taught him - all that - while I slept here?'

'You know what he's like. Give him an inch... Of course his hands are much too small and so he's only one-fingering at the moment, rather than using the proper chords - and it's only basic stuff but - impressive, don't you think.'

'Impressive? I'm in a household of incredible geniuses. I think I'll go talk to the cat. At least I'm smarter than the _cat_.'

Rodney gave her a look, 'You think?' And then, 'Oh! The pancakes!'

She stood up, kissed Blake good morning on the forehead - he shot her a quick flash of gold then went back to his white concentration (despite it all, he still wasn't accustomed to talking for the hell of it) - and then she followed McKay into the kitchen. 'You can cook?' she asked in disbelief, then spied the pancake mix bottle and grinned when he admitted, 'No, not really.'

To his surprise, she grinned. 'Thank God! Something I can do that you can't!' Then she paused suspiciously, 'You must have been up at the crack of dawn to go shopping _and _teach Beethoven junior to play. Or did you find some eggs and milk that I missed throwing out and we're all going to cark it from food poisoning?'

He looked offended, 'if you must know, the neighbour brought them. I don't think she really believed your note, that I had my woman and son here.'

'And you let her come and look at us like animals in a zoo?' she demanded, aware that she had a habit of pulling the most horrible faces in her sleep - but not really too angry, because of the glow she felt at being called his woman. Though, of course, for the sake of feminism, she was probably going to have to train him out of it.

He looked even more offended, 'Of course not. I took the groceries and said she could come look some other time.'

She grinned at him, 'Don't worry, Rodney. I'll prove your manliness and take Blake and myself over for a visit this morning - it is Sunday, right? and now - if you don't turn those pikelets, genius, you will be going shopping after all.'

* * *

** _(07 January, outside Rodney McKay's apartment) _ **

She sat in the front passenger's seat of his car, utterly stumped. ‘Rodney McKay. You spent the whole of yesterday and most of today making up with your sister, just because you wanted her to babysit Blake for us - though I fail to see why you don't trust your neighbour with your son as much as your cat - and then you bring me back _here_? I thought we'd at _least _go see a movie, though God only knows I doubt there'd be anything we'd _both _want to-"

He broke off her complaint in full flight by unbuckling his seatbelt, leaning over, and kissing her. For a second she just sat there, cranky at him for interrupting her, even if the method was an improvement on his usual snarking. But when his hands started creeping (albeit awkwardly from that angle) from hips, she met his kiss and caught her own hands happily against his shoulders... before pushing him away, fumbling with her own seat belt, and exclaiming with a merry grin, "You are a devious man, Rodney. If anyone else knew - I take it, then, that you only wanted Blake out of the way to _seduce _me." She rolled the word off her tongue playfully.

He ran a hand along her hair, wishing she'd wear it out like he asked her to instead of putting it up in these goddawful messy braids. ‘Well,' he muttered, ‘_You _don't think it's a bit weird that we've got a four year old son but I've never seen you naked?'

She shook her head in amusement, ‘Men. They're all the same, IQs play no part in it.'

‘Oh, come on. You know you want me.'

She nodded, laughing at him, and then added, ‘But not, Rodney, as much as you want me,' and with that she was out of his car and practically _skipping _to his apartment. McKay smirked, locked the car with a _piep-piep_, and followed her leisurely knowing that he had the keys and she'd have to wait for him to let her in. Which was why he was rather surprised to find the door flung wide open. ‘How'd you do that?' he demanded, affronted at the insult to his logic, ‘This isn't Atlantis, and you promised not to go using your clever little powers for simple stuff.'

‘You forget, my brother might have taught me some useful skills...' Then she grinned at him from the other side of the lounge and jangled some keys at him. ‘Mr. Rogers gave me a set.'

‘Mr who?' He blinked. At her look of exasperation, the penny dropped and he nodded suddenly, ‘Oh, the caretaker. Right. Er - why'd he do that after he was so anal about letting me next door?'

She shrugged. ‘I dunno, he must have taken a shine to me. Is that so surprising?' She was looking at him with a decidedly cheeky expression on her face. Rodney turned and locked the door, then grinned at her saying, ‘Actually, yes. No idea what _anyone _could see in you.'

‘Ah,' she mused mockingly, ‘I see you obviously never took those charm lessons I advised you to get, Casanova. You know, flattery would get you everywhere.'

He continued to grin at her, circled the sofa, and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Would it now?'

‘It might. I make no promises.' Feeling oddly self-conscious, she reached a hand up to her hair and released it from its band, then ran her hands through it to untangle it until it hung around her face.

‘God, that's lovely,' he murmured.

She shot him a pleased glance, ‘Mmm, now that's what I'm talking about.'

‘You've been around Mitchell for too long.'

She kissed him lightly, ‘Jealous. Though... there _is _something I've been meaning to ask you.' She paused and glanced at him curiously, ‘I thought you were supposed to like blondes. Isn't that what Sheppard's always saying?'

Rodney put his face against the top of her head and muttered, ‘John Sheppard wouldn't know his ear from his elbow when it comes to what I do and don't like. Though he's right, to a point. I won't deny that I have a certain weakness for blondes. But hey, he has a weakness for Ascended chicks and it hasn't stopped him from taking up with Elizabeth, has it?'

Meaghan grinned at him. ‘You're a daft old bear, you know that, don't you, genius?'

He still looked a little piqued at the adjective ‘old', and she shook her head at herself and whispered, ‘Sorry. I forget you don't like that.'

Rodney reached down, smacked her rear smartly, and said, ‘Well, in this particular case - the _old _man's back would prefer the bed to the couch, which is where we're going to end up if you stay here looking at me like that much longer.'

She shook her head, ‘You never were backwards in coming forwards, were you?'

He shrugged, ‘How I am seems to be working well enough on you.'

Well. He had a point.

She took his hand and led him down the hall...


	34. I, Me, Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by ProfessorZ.

** _(19 January, a rural town, west of the Great Dividing Range, Australia...)_ **

Doctor Rodney McKay sat on a slightly uneven chair at a well-decked table in the kitchen of Meaghan's childhood home and gazed around with an openly curious face. That is, when he wasn't stuffing it with food. The Canadian had already discovered, while they were living together in his apartment, that the girl could - quite surprisingly - cook like an angel and now he understood where she'd learnt it. Or perhaps it was genetic...She'd insisted vociferously that they phone ahead and warn her mother that they were coming, and he realised now that the food was at least part of the reason. Bev Monahan must have spent half the morning cooking. That - and the girl had wanted to make it clear that the famous lemon meringue was well and truly out of the question, for the sake of both her men-folk...

The son part had gone down easier than they had expected. They'd known that Mitchell (_"oh, that nice young man, and so dashing in his dress uniform too,_") had visited Bev a week earlier and given her limited security clearance, which had helped matters. So far as Meaghan's mother knew, her daughter had been working with an international body of scientists (true enough), studying a previously unknown culture (also true enough), and via a piece of odd technology her pregnancy had been rapidly advanced (more or less true). That she and Rodney hadn't actually been a couple at the time, or voluntarily involved in Blake's conception, was something they had decided Bev didn't need to know.

Fortunately Bev had similar esoteric interests to Meaghan and - even more importantly - she understood that further questioning, when her daughter couldn't answer, would simply create a rift between them. Still, Rodney could see her watching them at the table with shadows behind her eyes - eyes that were just like Meaghan's had been before they'd altered - and he realised suddenly that it must be harder to know little than nothing at all.

As far as her external family was concerned, there was nothing Meaghan could do but shrug and say she'd been living a double life, though Rodney could see that she wanted to rip her tongue out every time she said it. Well, he'd warned her that coming back would only complicated things, but did she listen? Of course not. Actually, she was lucky that she'd been away as often as she had in the last half dozen years as it was - though he was pretty sure that if anyone took the time to check up on her story, it would have holes poked in it before you could say boo. Still, the military's suggestion - that she pass their boy off as adopted - was in her opinion even more loathsome and besides, the genetics ran too clearly for that to actually work.

Rodney shrugged to himself at his thoughts, stuffed a bit more cake in his mouth, and watched Meaghan and her mother talk.

If the lies made her miserable, then there had been other days which were better. Days when they got away from everyone else because she wanted to show him and Blake places that she'd loved as a kid. Though her predilection for walking was a bit disturbing. He'd never really noticed it in Atlantis becauseeveryone had to walk. But he honestly failed to see the attraction of banging through the scrub (which was prickly, itchy, and full of way too much wildlife of the creepy crawly variety for his liking) just to get to the top of a hill and look out at_ more scrub_. He would arrive irritated and slightly puffed, and she'd be scrambling onto the top of a boulder and spouting melodramatic nonsense along the lines of, ‘Oh God but I've missed this place! Living in Atlantis is like living in a glass box! We really should go to the mainland more!'

Still, those days weren't that common. It wasn't as though they had that long in Australia before the _Daedalus _arrived, and most of that time seemed to be spent at interminably long afternoon teas at Great Aunt Erma's or Uncle Jack's, where you got asked the same stupid questions over and over again, which you couldn't answer honestly anyway. The only consolation was the food. Apparently, all the Monahans could cook. Come to think of it, this relationship could have disastrous implications for his waistline. He shrugged and helped himself to another lamington.

Worst of all had been the dinner with Meaghan's grandparents. She had already worked herself into a foul mood just thinking about it, and when he'd made a sarcastic comment about the hypocrisy of her views on his relationship with Jeannie, she'd just glared at him fit to kill. Then there'd been a scramble for ‘good' clothes because, in her words, "Ralph-bloody-Monahan has pretentions about _dressing_ for dinner, as if it were 1788 still and somebody just dubbed him Governor." Of course he hadn't anything vaguely like ‘good' clothes with him. In fact, there had only been the small consolation of the fact that she'd ended up in a dress so lovely that he'd have been more than happy to help her back out of it again. Which of course he couldn't.

They'd been two minutes late when she pressed her finger to the doorbell at her grandparents' house. An elderly lady with short grey hair opened it and said by way of greeting, "Oh Meaghan dear, you should try to be more punctual. You know what a stickler your grandfather is."

Meaghan had groaned loudly, but gathered her grandmother into a hug and said, "Nana, you have to stop letting him get you down." She pulled away slightly and grinned, "I keep telling you, run away to the Gold Coast and get yourself a nice bronzed surfer toy-boy."

Her Nana had smiled nervously and then leant down towards Blake. The boy had stared at her wide-eyed - she was his _mother's father's mother_ and she could _bond. _Mrs. Monahan senior ruffled his hair gently and said, "Hello pumpkin. I can't believe what a naughty mummy you have. But no matter, you've got a great-grandma now and that's the main thing." And she slipped him a square of chocolate, just like she had done for all those years when Domenic and Meaghan had come to visit. Then she'd straightened, nodded brusquely at Rodney and said, "You mustn't take anything Ralph says too personally, my dear. It's all been a bit of a shock to us, really. At least you're not American."

For the next hour and a half, that had been the punctuation of the conversation.

_"It's a disgrace what you've done, denying the boy his family." _

_"But at least he's not American." _

_"And what do you say you do, young man? Physics? And does that pay well? It sounds a bit impractical to me. A man should be firmly involved in the world around him, not lost in senseless academic. What good have intellectuals ever done us? Just look at the atom bomb." _

_"But at least he's not American." _

_"Doesn't the child ever talk? What is he, backwards?" _

_"But at least -" _

The old woman, who McKay might have felt sorry for if he weren't too busy feeling sorry for himself, didn't get a chance to finish her sentence, because it was at that point that he discovered just how deeply Meaghan's predilection for throwing things ran. The cup, fine and delicate, shattered against the wall behind her grandparents and she pushed her chair backwards with a screech on the wooden floorboards and yelled, "For God's sake, that's _enough_!"

They'd all stared at her in shock. Including Rodney. Then her grandfather's lips had narrowed into a thin line and he'd snapped. "Sit down, young lady, you're making a spectacle of yourself, and in front of your child too. You've made your bed and now you have to-"

"Now I have to lie in it, yes, I know, I know! I've heard every single one of your proverbs a thousand times before, grandpa. But you know what? I _am_ lying in it. And I'm happy! Happy! And for your information, my son is not backwards, he just talks only when there's something really worth saying, which is a trait the rest of us Monahans could do well to adopt. And you can stop dragging down Rodney, too. Let me tell you that I'm frankly _astounded_ that he's sat here for this long and taken it without a whimper. And you know why he's done that? Because incredible as it may seem to you, he cares about me. Warts and all, which is something you, grandpa, have never _ever_ done! I was never good enough for you, never did the right thing. And so I'm telling you now - I'm happy with my life, I'm proud of my job, I have a magnificent son, and am living with a man I love. This is me. This is how I am. And until you can wrap your narrow little mind around it, I refuse to keep on sitting here and pretending that I don't mind you stomping on my dreams."

She walked around the table, kissed her grandma on a papery cheek and said, "I'm sorry about the cup, Nana."

Then she picked up a shaken looking Blake, headed to the door and, as though as an afterthought, turned back and added, "I love you both unquestioningly, you know. I just wish you could do the same."

A few seconds later she stood with Rodney and Blake on the veranda. And burst into tears...

Now McKay blinked and realised that Bev was offering him another cup of coffee. He smiled, and nodded. She was okay, Meg's Mum. But as for the rest of them, he wouldn't be sad if he didn't see any more Monahan relatives for a very long time...

* * *

** _(27 January, Sydney, Australia.)_ **

Meaghan sat with her feet up on a chair and pen in her mouth. She was buried deep in editing a paper she was writing on the psychological effects of unexpected maternity from an anthropological point of view. It was only a few days since they'd finally left her hometown and come back to Sydney, but the moment they'd crossed the mountains a weight seemed to have lifted from her shoulders and she'd gone back to being her normally irritatingly happy self. Now she was so engrossed in her work that she didn't even seem to notice - despite her uncanny habit of sensing his gaze on her - that he was sitting in the chair opposite her, laptop balanced on his knees unattended, simply watching her. Elizabeth had sent him work to be getting on with while they waited for the _Daedalus _to arrive (she'd commented wryly in her note that _he _hadn't been promised leave), but he hadn't looked at it for the last ten minutes.

Meaghan seemed particularly lovely this morning in his - admittedly biased - opinion. She'd crawled out of bed, gone and washed her face and done her teeth in the miniscule bathroom connected to the hotel room, and then come with her hair all awry to sit and work. Silently. He'd learnt to appreciate her moments of silence, because they were few and far between. It had been pouring down fierce summer rain all night and the water droplets on the windows reflected in small rainbows upon her pale skin and freckled legs and the white cotton of her nightie. She'd pushed the window half open before she'd sat down and the fine netting of fly-screen shadowed its crosshatchings across her face in amongst the rainbows. It would be a scorching day - already the smell of melting asphalt and overheating big-city crept in the window beneath the fresher scent of the sea - but for now a light warm breeze played across her and made the papers she was holding ripple gently. He liked the concentrated contentment on her face.

Not that she hadn't had her shrew moments even since they'd left her hometown. But he could almost, possibly, _grudgingly_ admit that he probably wasn't the easiest person to live with either. He had a suspicion that the hotel would be glad to see them leave and take their noisy domestics with them. Not that Meaghan didn't usually win said domestics. He grinned to himself. Secretly, he kind of got a kick out of watching her win arguments - well, particularly when they weren't with him. She'd made bickering into an art form. It as kind of like watching a woman stick-fight, only verbally... and just as hot.

Meaghan seemed to suddenly realise that he as watching her because she glanced up at him and smiled absently, "G'morning."

"Morning to you too. What's the squidget doing?"

She looked at him properly and pulled the pen from her mouth. "Sleeping like a log. The excitement of Toronga Park Zoo yesterday wore him completely out. I suppose I should wake him, or he'll be up all night, but..."

Rodney tried to imagine being four years old and taking Asgards and spaceships for granted, but being so wowed by some kangaroos and a couple of cows - and gave up. He also gave up even pretending that he was working, and put his laptop to one side and sighed.

Meaghan let her papers rests down against her knees. "What's up? The stuff Weir sent you's boring?"

"No - actually, it's surprisingly interesting. Apparently Carson has found the solution to-" He stopped suddenly, and said instead, "You know what, let's talk about that some other time."

She wrinkled her nose. "So what would you prefer to talk about? Or is that an unusually subtle Rodney hint for me to shut back up?"

He grinned, then suddenly stood up and confiscated her pen and papers, ignoring her whining. Then pulled his chair even closer to hers, sat on it, and pulled her around to face him, his hands holding her thighs with easy familiarity, a thumb caressing a circle around a Vietnamese proverb he had found - amongst other things - beneath her clothes.

"Rodney," she complained, "_I_ was working, even if _you_ weren't."

"It sounded like you were _talking,_ actually. Besides, today's not a day for working."

"It's not? And why might that be? It's going to be filthy hot weather again, and I already took you to see all the 'sights' yesterday, and since you're too big a sook to go the beach with me, there's not much else to do. TV is even suckier than I remember."

"Zip it, woman. Today is a day for turning up the air conditioner and lazing around and being generally happy."

She stared at him and then leant forwards to rest her forehead against his like an Athosian in greeting and observed calmly, "And now I think I'll phone the front desk and find out where the nearest doctor is because you are definitely unwell. _You_ want to spend a day lounging? My God, it was all I could do to get you to pause in one spot to even _look _at what I took you and Blake to see yesterday."

He tried to focus his eyes on her, but she was so close that it just sent him slightly cross-eyed, so he sufficed with moving his hands up her thighs to grip her by the hips ad pull her closer so that their knees touched. "It's not my fault if I find your buildings and things uninteresting. And don't even _get _me started on that Opera House. What's it supposed to_ be _anyway? But -" he continued quickly before she could start protesting, "None of that matters. Today we're celebrating."

She lifted her forehead back off his and asked, with that warm undertone to her voice that always made him grin in a smug way, "What are we celebrating, Rodney?" She was looking at him with _those _liquid eyes and with the morning sunlight on her, and her mass of red curls every which way, and wearing nothing but that scrap of white cotton, he almost lost track of his train of thought. But then he shrugged at her, to clear his head, and dug around in his pocket amongst tissues and rubber bands and the torn wrapper from a Tim Tams packet (God, Tim Tams were even better than power bars), and then pulled something out and shoved it against the palm of her hand, muttering gruffly, "I always end up doing this sort of thing wrong so -"

She unfurled her fingers with her stomach lurching in premonition, looked at the ring, then looked back at him, eyes wide to their limits.

"Marry me?" he asked, his voice wobbly with nerves. But she just kept on staring at him. Oh God, why was she staring at him?

"Rod-ney," she said very slowly, spelling out the syllables with care on her tongue, "You've never even told me you love me yet."

He blinked. "Oh. Really? I thought I had." He looked embarrassed and she wrinkled her nose in amusement.

Then she said, in that warm, heavy voice again, "I refuse to even consider answering that question until you actually use the L-word, Rodney. Out loud, in broad daylight, when you don't think I'm asleep." Her eyes were positively _twinkling_.

"Well, you already know then, if you know about that," he complained.

She shimmied a little closer to him and put her hand in the middle of his chest like she'd done after the explosion, so long ago now, and when she'd thought he was dead. She could feel his heart pounding. "What I do or don't know isn't being questioned here. But I'd say it soon if I were you, or before you collapse." He gave her an annoyed look, and she laughed softly. "Oh God, Rodney, it can't be _that _hard. Let me make it easier..." She slid her arms around him, ring still gripped securely in her fist, and kissed him until he dug his hands hard against her back. When she pulled away and murmured, "I love you, Meredith Rodney McKay", he put his face against her hair and answered clearly, "I love you too, woman, irrationally and irreversibly, even if you do baffle the hell out of me."

Against his shoulder she grinned in triumph, then looked at him and nodded. "You'd better get used to saying that, genius, because I expect to hear it at least once a day for the next eighty odd years."

He stared at her. "You're saying yes?"

"Of course I'm saying yes, you silly great bear." She grinned, inspected the ring happily for a moment before sliding it into place, and then moved in a little closer for another kiss...


	35. How Do You Do It?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by ProfessorZ.

_ **(2 February, Stargate Command.)** _

Sheppard had been bored out of his brain for the last month. There was nothing to do. He'd asked to be put temporarily on an SG team and they'd said it was beneath him as there were no ranking positions available - as if he cared. Then he'd asked to be sent back to Antarctica for a month and they'd said he wasn't needed. Unlike McKay, he had no home to go to, since he'd lived in Antarctica before he'd gone to Atlantis. And unlike Meaghan, he wasn't exactly itching to see what small bit of family he had left. Most of his friends were in the forces like him and posted somewhere out of reach - or had simply drifted off after too many years without proper contact. So he'd bummed around a bit - taken himself off to see the Grand Canyon because he'd never been there and it seemed a bit lame to have seen the Pegasus Galaxy but not _that_ \- he'd lived out of a backpack and borrowed Sam's motorbike.

And then he'd come back here. He'd spent the last four days stomping around the SGC, hanging out with Mitchell when he was in, avoiding Vala when he wasn't, and every few hours wondering if he should send some kind of message to Elizabeth, and every time deciding against it. Yes, he'd received her communication telling him he was being sent back to Atlantis. And she'd recorded it herself, rather than just sending it via the written word like she could have. But there'd been something sad to her face and... And all in all it meant that he didn't think he'd ever been happier to see Rodney McKay when he appeared around a corner, lugging a suitcase in one hand and a bag in the other, and a highly sour expression on his face.

"McKay, buddy!" he exclaimed by way of greeting - and wondered absently if perhaps he'd spent too _much _time around Mitchell.

McKay, who had been muttering loudly, nodded curtly in response and whinged, "You'd think that we wouldn't have to carry our own stuff. I mean, seriously, the dumpiest airline on the planet has better flight service than the _Daedalus _does. All these marines standing around with vacant expressions on their faces, but can they help? Oh, no, they have their precious posts to attend to, as though the base will collapse if they aren't all standing just so in the right spot. And come to think of it, I still don't understand why we had to come back here in the first place. The _Daedalus _beams, does it not? Ergo why couldn't we be beamed from Sydney? Or anywhere else that took our fancy? Hmm?"

Sheppard grinned, "Nice too see you too, Rodney. That's the price of getting a woman though - all the luggage you have to drag around."

At that point Meaghan, herself holding a bag in one hand and the strap of Blake's overalls in the other, appeared likewise around the corner. She arrived laughing and said, "You are kidding, right? All _my _stuff I've got in my backpack - the rest of this junk is mostly Rodney's. I swear half of it must be Tim Tams." Then she put the bag down and asked with a smile, "How've you been keeping?"

"Climbing the walls," he admitted dryly, then squatted down to her son's level and asked curiously, "Hey there, little guy. You remember your Uncle Johnny?"

The four year-old gave him a what-do-you-think-I'm-stupid-look and then glanced back up at his mother. She shrugged and shook her head, "No point giving me that look, little pickle. I can't help it if he's got his mind closed off. You're just going to have to talk out loud if you want to say something."

He looked frustrated, because he still didn't like talking at the best of times, and it was particularly unjust to force him to when the other person so obviously had the capacity to _bond _if he wanted. Then the little boy sighed. He reached carefully into the pouch hanging around his neck that Meaghan had made him from one of Rodney's old hand towels, originally designed to keep his Asgard dollies in, and to Sheppard's surprise he pulled out a tiny black kitten. She yawned, stretched so that her little pink nails unfurled, and then blinked with indignation at the sudden daylight. Blake held her gently but a little awkwardly in his hands, then looked from her to Sheppard and said in a terribly small, terribly shy voice - which was rendered even more shocking by the knowledge of who his parents were - "My cat."

Sheppard grinned, "You don't say? She got a name?"

Blake looked even more frustrated, then placed the kitten gently back in the pouch where she wriggled for a moment or two to get comfortable again. Then the boy stretched his hands out before him and made as though he were playing an invisible piano with great concentration.

Sheppard screwed up his face and looked blank. Rodney watched his son's fingers for a second and then said, "Oh, of course. He's playing you _Chopsticks_. Which makes sense. That's what he named her, you see. Chopsticks." And he shrugged as though that were a perfectly normal name for a four year old to give a cat.

For a second John had the overwhelming urge to make a most un-politically correct joke about cats and Asian cuisine, managed to restrain himself, and asked instead, "You like the piano, Blake?"

Blake nodded carefully, checking he'd remember the right direction to move his head and mean 'yes'.

McKay beamed proudly, "He _plays_ the piano."

"Really, now? Well, aren't you a clever little guy."

Meaghan nodded, just as proudly as Rodney. "Yup. But he's got the best teaching him."

Sheppard shot her a lop-sided grin. "I didn't know _you _played."

She smirked, "_I _don't."

It took the Colonel a couple of seconds to process the implications of that, then he stared a little, before scruffling up the boy's short dark hair (Meaghan had finally taken a pair of scissors to it just to shut Rodney up because she was sick to death of him whining about 'girly haircuts') and stood up. The kitten mewed loudly in her pouch and at the sound John said doubtfully, in a low voice, "But you're not taking it to Atlantis though, right?"

Meaghan and Rodney exchanged a look. "Damn right we are," she retorted loudly, "after all the bureaucratic nonsense we had to endure to finally get the go-ahead. I mean, seriously. Colonel Caldwell went on as though one little kitten was going to overpower his entire crew and sell his ship for scrap metal on the intergalactic black market. And as for Doctor Weir - you'd think we were asking to import ebola-in-a-biscuit! Like, it's a cat. _One _cat. It can't breed, it can't eat people, and it's not as though the city of Atlantis has much of a biosphere to disrupt. This little mite was subjected to more tests that _I _was - and there was a flat-out no from all involved about poor old Rodney's cat."

"You have a cat?" asked Sheppard curiously, then remembered that he probably already knew that.

Rodney looked maudlin. "I _had _a cat. The wicked witch here made me give it to my neighbour. Said that it was damaging the stupid woman's mental health to devote so many years to an animal that technically isn't hers. And I ask you, do you think I care about her mental health?" He gave Meaghan a black look that reminded Sheppard uncannily of the one his ex-wife used to give him, but Meaghan seemed indifferent to it, and just shot an equally stubborn look right back.

"You _know _it was the right thing to do."

He humph-ed loudly, but before either of them could launch into what was clearly a familiar argument, John asked quickly, "So, where's the _other _Doctor Monahan? He said he was still tossing it up the last time we spoke, but I figured he'd come. I mean, he's a damn natural asset if I can get him on the SGA team."

Meaghan grinned mischievously and without turning around said, "Firstly, I think you'll find that my brother is standing in the hall listening to your eulogy like the fat-head he is."

Sure enough, her brother appeared around the corner and shouted in amused irritation, "You know Meggles, I'm pretty sure that breaks about ten trillion privacy laws."

She shrugged, hugged him, and protested, "What, _I _wasn't the one eavesdropping. And besides, I wasn't reading your mind, I was just sensing your presence. Nothing wrong with that, unless you're up to something. So shuddup already." Then she glanced back to Sheppard, coloured prettily and said, "Secondly, there's technically only going to be _one_ Doctor Monahan in Atlantis soon."

"You - eh?" He stared at her, confused, and then was more stunned than he had been for a very, very long time when she thrust out her hand beneath his nose for his inspection.

She had an engagement ring on her finger, and continued with merry laughter at his expression, "But there will be two Doctor McKays."

Dom looked sympathetically at the Colonel, who seemed to be choking on something, and said conspiratorially, "Trust me when I say that I know how you feel, mate. Now just imagine if it were your _sister_ who was planning on marrying the meatball. God in heaven..."

Rodney looked insulted. "Oh, please, Sheppard, you don't have to have a fit about it. I don't see what's so strange. Carson practically proposed to her the day after she gave birth, you know. At least I had the decency to wait a month and a half."

Sheppard took hold of the girl's hand, stared at the ring for a moment, and then found his voice to demand, "A month and a half? You think a month and a half is long enough before you ask someone to _marry _you? Damn it, Rodney, do you have any idea how insane that is - no offense to you personally, Monahan, but -" he stopped dead, completely stunned, and then started at her grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat. "Oh, for God's sake!" he exclaimed, "You don't expect me to call you _both _McKay, do you? Aren't you a modern woman and all that stuff?"

She smiled in an irritatingly sweet way. "Obviously not in some things, Colonel Sheppard. But just Meaghan will do quite nicely. As much as I personally think Meaghan McKay has a rather nice ring to it, I figure Rodney's had dibs on it for longer than I have. Meaghan will be more than fine."

But Sheppard was still reeling. "You can't just go and marry a woman like that, Rodney."

McKay crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly. "Oh yes? And what's that? Rule 305 of the John Sheppard universe? You're just annoyed because your thing with Elizabeth isn't going well."

_Ohhh_. Meaghan winced. _Oh, God, Rodney, pull your foot back out of your mouth._

But it was too late to take it back, even if he'd thought of doing so, because at that point General Landry arrived and started saying jolly farewells (no doubt he really would be genuinely pleased to see the last of them, even if he did have a soft spot of Blake) and then a handful of minutes later they were all beamed on board and Blake, who'd gotten tired of standing around watching the adults talk, started begging in his parents heads to go and meet Hermiod...

* * *

Sheppard stood and stared out the viewport. Maybe McKay was right. Not that he would ever admit it to the man's face but - but maybe he was just a bit jealous. Not of him marrying that particular woman, heaven forbid - he wasn't going to back down on his assertion that _that_ was insane, because it just was, there was no getting around that - no, not that. But that McKay had a woman who was so willing to say yes. John rubbed his hand across the side of his neck. He'd been with Elizabeth just over a year now and it had never _seriously_ occurred to him to ask her hand in marriage, because he was pretty sure that her answer would be no. He could just imagine it. She'd stand there and look apologetic and uncomfortable and then she'd start harping on about their careers and their responsibilities...

He watched the weird colours of hyperdrive and looked at the coffee cup in his hand and remembered suddenly what one of the crew had told him - that this was exactly how Elizabeth had passed her time on her way back to Atlantis as well: staring out at the universe passing by. It gave him an odd kind of hope. As though perhaps, despite it all, despite the conflict between career and relationship, there might be some hope for them. He knew that they were their own worst enemies. If one of them were just a little less stubborn, if one of them were willing to bow to the other and say, don't worry darling, I'll just have a demotion, then it would all work just fine. Sunshine and daisies and white picket fences. But neither of them were going to do that. Neither of them were like Meaghan Monahan. Sure, it was different for her and Rodney. They could both keep their jobs. When the SGC had given permission for Meaghan to keep her son and her job, they'd passed that pair an inch and naturally they'd run a mile with it. Still, deep down John suspected that Meaghan probably would have survived without the job. Knowing her, she'd just potter around writing papers and helping Rodney out and being his Little Woman. Which wasn't what Elizabeth was. Moreover, he wouldn't _want _that to be how Elizabeth was. Maybe that suited Rodney but it wasn't the kind of woman, or even the kind of relationship, that he was after.

So neither of them were going to bend and if they kept up like this, they'd both end up breaking instead.

He rested his head against the cool glass of the viewport and realised, slowly, like an idea of a ghost thought creeping over him, that he really didn't care anymore. What he'd said to her was the truth - that he loved her more than anything. And he knew, deep down, that she loved him back. He didn't care anymore, what happened when he returned to Atlantis. It was a strange dance they were taking part in and he knew the moves were complicated but for now, he'd let her lead. And then, then when time had passed and the rules had changed - which he was certain they would, even more so now that Meaghan and McKay had flaunted their special permissions - then he would take the reins. A slight smile slid across his face. Yes. And then, whenever then might be, he was going to ask her to marry him. And deep down, he thought he knew that her answer would be yes.

Time, he hoped, would be their friend.


	36. Epilogue: Hello Little Girl(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by ProfessorZ.

** _(Two years later, McKay Quarters, Atlantis...)_ **

'Rodney?'

He grunted in his sleep and rolled away from her voice. She'd been laying awake for _ages_. Hell, she'd even been up wandering around - tidying the place - brushing her teeth - staring out the window...

'Rodney?' She pushed at his shoulder.

He groaned even louder, pulled the sheets up around his ears and muttered, 'Go away, perfidious female. Is Sunday...'

Meaghan grinned to herself. Only her husband could use four syllable words like that when he was still more than half asleep. For a moment she considered the cold water trick, but the last time she'd done that he'd sulked for three days and given her the silent treatment for two more. So she poked him in the back instead. He rolled even further way from her and dug even deeper down into the blankets. She just looked at him, then half-smiled to herself, shimmied closer, and trailed her hand ever so slowly down gently beneath the sheets and along his backbone, whispering, 'Good morning, genius.'

He grunted yet again, though not any where near as grumpily, and when she snuggled against him he rolled over, put his arm around her and muttered, 'You could just _say _you want a cuddle. Now let me sleep...' It was a miracle that Blake wasn't already up and making noise, and McKay wanted to take advantage of it while it lasted. And a few seconds later, sure enough, he was actually dozing again. For a while, Meaghan did just cuddle him, then she sat up, ran a hand along his face, and put her lips on his until he surfaced awake again enough to return her kiss. Which he did, then looked cross at her for waking him again. Still, there were worse methods, and he was pretty sure that in the last two years she'd inflicted almost all of them on him. Kissing was probably his favourite. Well, close favourite...

He ran his hands up along her arms, not really cross any more, and said, blinking, 'Fine, obnoxious woman. I think I'm awake now. What is it that can't wait?'

She smiled warmly at finally having his attention, kissed him a little more just because he was normally up and buried in work before she'd even crawled out of bed and it was a novelty to have him to herself in the morning, and then said casually, 'You know those Athosian contraceptives that Carson put me on, because he reckoned they wouldn't make me pack on the weight like the pill does?'

He nodded absently, half his mind still not fully awake and the other half preoccupied with the particular mood she'd put him in by the way she'd woken him. He ran his hand down along her thigh and asked, not really interested, 'What about them?'

She smiled, 'I don't think they work very well.'

He glanced up at her critically, then shrugged against his pillows, 'You look okay to me.'

For a moment she was utterly baffled, then said with a chuckle, 'Rodney, you daft old bear, I'm not saying they make me put on _weight_ like the pill. I'm saying they don't _work_.'

His hand paused on the edge of her nightie and he went very still for a moment. She could actually see the cogs of his brain working slowly. Sometimes, her clever husband could be impossibly dense.

'Don't work as in - how don't work?' he finally managed.

She gave him one of her looks, then grinned slowly, 'Don't work as in don't work, Rodney. But to quote Carson? Congratulations - it's twins.'

His head dropped back into the pillows.

Well, at least this time he hadn't fainted...


End file.
